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^Cayt* ^C^^\ 

Strtlj&ajj Mtuwfm 


To My Darling Montana 

Every night there comes to me a memory of a 

childish face that I love so dear; 
Gently in my heart there's echoes of a sweet 

voice that I'd love to hear; 
'Tis the memory of Sweet Montana, the darling 

girl who had to die, 
In a fatal fall from the heavens, away up in 

the sky. 
As I watch the golden sun rays setting in the far 

golden west — 
In that land of sunshine and happiness that I 

love the best, 
There's a picture in my heart a-gleaming, 
As I sit in my loneliness a seeming, 
That I'm living over again and dreaming 
Of a tiny little spot; 'twas our dear old Montana 

Where the elk and deer o'er the mountains and 

sagebrush plains would roam, 
Was the birthplace of Dearest Montana, where 

to earth she was born, 
On the twelfth of March, one cold and wintry 

Where we lived in love and happiness as the 

days and years sped by; 
Where at night in the twilight you could hear 

the coyote cry; 
Where the cowboys and the freighters in chivalry 

and delight 
Enjoyed a social game of cards in the bunkhouse 

at night; 
Where the tourists in their glory came to tour 

the Yellowstone Park, 
And the geysers roared like fury as the water 

they would spout. 
When in awe you'd view the Devil's Kitchen it 

would sort o' make your skin a-creepin' and 

As you'd view the Grand Canyon and the Morn- 

ing-Glory pool, 
You would think of God's wonders and the earth 

he did rule, 
Some super divine feeling would overcome you. 
Ever and ever onward, year after year, 
Herds of antelope, bison and deer, 
Graze o'er the mountains and valleys, docile and 

And the trail leads a zigzagging across the 

Yellowstone to the Golden Gate. 
Through Hayden Valley and by Emerald Lake, 
O'er Hell-Roaring Mountain to the Continental 

Where God in His majesty separates the waters 

far and wide. 
With the speed of an arrow dashing o'er boulder, 

cataract and fall, 

To the Atlantic and Pacific, the mightiest of all, 
Flowing to the land of the East and to the land 

of the West, 
Through canyon and gorge, beneath the lofty 

mountain crest, 
Where the eagle and. the magpie build their 

nest — 
The enchanted land of the golden west, that our 

Darling Montana loved better than all of 

the rest. 
Where her beautiful life was divinely inspired 

with the love of God and Heaven in her 

Beautiful, noble and grand was this darling baby 

girl, of the land of the far-away Golden 

West. ' 
Can you grasp the heavenly beauty of a child 

with love so true, 
That was born amid the surroundings that I've 

just described to you? 
In her heart there was the glory of the Morning- 

Glory pool, 
In her eyes were the reflections of its waters 

of azure blue. 
O'er her face sweetly rippled as the smiling 

Yellowstone lake; 
Just a beautiful picture, as an artist would make. 
In the craggy cliffs of the Grand Canyon was 

■the color of her hair, 
And the tinting in her cheek and her lovely 

eyes were there, 
While the roses blooming in her heart with 

fragrance and beauty rare, 
And her memory, dear friend, may I plant in the 

garden of your heart — 
For this charming girl, so fair! 
There was bubbling within her soul love that 

happiness to you would bring, 
Just as great and wonderful as the mighty old 

Mammoth Spring. 
Forever and ever, to the end of my days, praises 

to her I will sing. 
Vivacious and courageous as the beasts that 

roamed the park, 
Just as meek and lovable as the tiny meadow- 
Her voice as the freshness of the first breath of 

And her presence would fill you with heavenly 

love that would drive all sorrows away. 
Her winsome smile your heart would beguile, 
With love and affection worth while. 
A peerless queen, a beautiful dream, she would 

Her style and winning ways never can I forget 

to the end of my days; 
Lovable and true, in beautiful heaven she is 

waiting for me, for you. 

Dearest Little Montana, I love to tell the story 

of you, with God above; 
It's all the happiness that's left me to tell of 

the one I love — 

With Jesus up in glory I write for you my words 

of love, 
This poem for you, my book is through, 
Then I wonder what I will do. 
But, perhaps, every day I will write and lay 

Until for the third book I can finance and pay, 
And I'd give it just the sweet little title — 

Montana LeMay. 
But there are many other things left for me to 

do for you; 
Your friends, the birds, dogs and cats, I'll be 

so good and true, 
And I'll feed them and pet them, give them a 

name, just as you used to. 
Away over at Houston; this, dear girl, I hope 

that I can finance and do: 
Erect a beautiful monument (where you fell), 

write some lovely inscription for you. 
The identical place is carefully marked, 
It was real close to Luna Park. 
And so pretty it will be, 
And just an everlasting memory of thee 
That future generations may see where you in 

your last flight 
To please and delight, lost your beautiful life. 
Sweetest Little Montana, come to me in my 

There's a spiritual understanding between you 

and me, it seems. 
And though you're far, far away, it seems that 

you're with me each day 
And that together we walk, talk and play. 
And Dearest Montana, I wish that you only knew 
All the dear, sweet thoughts that I have for you. 
And Dear Little Montana, to you I'll be so stead- 
fast and true; 
And by your little grassy grave some happy day 

I'll come to you. 
And to you and Dear God in heaven I will pray 
That I'll meet you up yonder some happy, happy 

Please come to me at my bedside and listen each 

night when I pray 
And hear all the sweet words to you that I say, 
And here's just one sweet and dear little verse 

that I'm writing all to you — 
Then I'll say good-bye, but not farewell to you. 

The sweetest words, as the sparrow fall, 
The greatest of girls of them all. 
And the dearest thoughts that I have of you 
Are such wonderful, wonderful thoughts 
That have no language at all. 

My Sweetest, My Dearest, and Darling Montana, 
Good-bye, but not farewell. 

This poem dedicated to my friends, Mr. and 
Mrs. William A. Hall, Gardiner, Montana; en- 
trance Yellowstone National Park. 

March 12, 1927. Palmdale, Florida. 

Dearest Montana's 
Birthday Party 









Montana Composition — Serial 165. 


Montana's Birthday Party 

March 12th, 1928 

THERE'S a little grave back in dear old 
Indiana, where the thrush and robins sing, 
And the daisies and the violets blossom in the 

spring ; 
O'vr the grave of dearest "Montana," where 

the vining ivy clings. 
On the twelfth of March, memories of her 

birthday bring. 
In that land of waving cornfields, sycamore 

and elm trees, 
With their low-hanging branches sighing in 

the breeze ; 
'Twas the home of her dear mother, and her 

father, too, 
Where they whiled away life's golden child- 
hood, and sorrows never knew, 
Roaming thru the wooded meadows where the 

roses bloomed and grew. 
O'er that grave back in dear old Indiana, 

there's a birthday party every spring, 
And the birds will always warble and sweetly 

they will sing, 
While in our hearts for-get-me-nots are 

blooming, that cherished memories bring, 
As each year we are drawing nearer and 

nearer, and at night in my dream 
I can see the flowers blooming o'er that grave 

of grassy green — 
And the days of life that's left us now are 

only but a few. 
Darling Montana, up in Heaven, our dearest 

birthday greetings we send to you — 
And at your birthday party your dear, dear 

friends, the birds, 
Have sung their sweetest songs of love to you. 

Dedicated to 

Miss Delphia Brinkmeier 

5441 Thrush Avenue, 

St. Louis, Mo. 


Oakridge — Palmdale, Florida. 

March 12th, 1928. 







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Montana Composition Serial Nnmber 159 

iHontana'a GUjrisimas 


Montana Composition Serial Number 38 

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Montana Composition Serial Number 160 

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Montana Composition Serial Number 159 

Montana a CUfnatmaa 


Oh Star of Bethlehem, silently and bright, 
Shine thru my cabin window thy radiant light. 
Two empty stockings, reminding me that 

Yuletide is near, 
Of other Christmas evenings, when she was 

Two empty stockings — I touch them with love; 
Born of the Spirit, of one gone above. 
Two empty stockings, hanging so near — I'll 

fill them with love 
For you, Dearest Montana — my dear. 
May God bless you in Heaven, but I'm so 

That I wish you were here. 
All alone in my cabin I'm sitting tonight, 
With two empty stockings, by the candles' 

In my fancy, Darling Montana, you are here — 
Star of Bethlehem, that's why up in Heaven 

you're shining so bright 
O'er the grave of Darling Montana, on this 

beautiful Christmas night. 

Dedicated to Miss Annie Booth, 
Tabor, North Carolina. 

Jfflap 3 &afee a $eeu at four 
Christmas Cree 

"Montana" Composition— Serial Number 161 

By Montana's Father 

Dedicated to 


Newberry, Florida 

4fHa$> 3 ®afee a Peek at gout 
Cf)rigtma£ ®ree 

"Montana" Composition— Serial Number 161 

% % % 

£TpV E AR FRIEND, may I look through 
I J your window and see, 

"^^ May I take a "peek" at your Christ- 
mas tree? 
See all the candles that are burning so 

bright — 
A.nd all the beautiful presents tthat fill you 

with delight. 
Years ago too, we had a little Christmas 

And my heart grows sad in its memorie. 
There was a libtle girl whose eyes always 

shown so bright 
Frcm the candles that were burning their 

wondrous light. 
In memories of that Christmas tree of the 

years ago, 
Sadly now my heart i>t is filled with sadness 

and woe 
As tonight she lies sleeping in a grave 

that's all covered with snow — 
That little girl who had the Christmas 

tree of the years ago. 

Whenever I see dear old San»ty carrying 

his pack, 
Thoughts of that dear little girl to me 

always come back. 
There's recollections of her dear and 

sweet, fair face 

Her beautiful golden hair, and her won- 
drous grace. 

As in tenderness she would clasp the dolls 
that were dressed so fine, 

And sweetly was the love of God that 
shown in here eyes that were divine. 

Like a little fairy, flitting quietly, always 
she seemed to be 

Playing around that tree in winsome love, 
and in her ecstasy. 

Oh, Dear God, can't you bring her back 
on this Christmas night? 

Oh, can't I peek again through your win- 
dow, if I might? 

But she is not there, no — no — no. 

And again I must trudge through the deep, 
deep snow 

To some other windows I must go. 

Somewhere I will find her smiling, happy 
in delight, 

A»t some little Christmas tree on this 
Christmas night. 

Then from the sky came a dazzling, bril- 
liant ray 

That made the earth as light as day, 

As a meteor falling from the Heavens 
came its fiery spray, 

Glowing as a hallo of love over the grave 

Of that little girl, our darling Montana 
Le May. 

Oakridge, Palmdale, Florida. 
Dec. 1927. 
Dedicated to 

Miss Anna Mae Nipper, 
Newberry, Florida. 

Montana Composition Serial Number 38 

Sarling iHuntatuf ffiittb (&mw 

Beautiful Glencove, in thy silent night, 
Glistening 'neath Heaven's stars so bright — 
Angels' watch are keeping, 
Dear ones with thee are sleeping. 

In silence I wander, unknown, and all alone, 

To find her name upon a stone. 

An angel's whisper I hear that draws me near 

That sweetest child, so dsar — 

A little grave, all so still — 

Silently I draw near, in fear 

That I shall awake that one asleep. 

By the white stone, and all alone, I weep — 

And softly to her I speak; 

And all night long a watch I keep 

O'er that dear girl who sweetly s.eeps. 

And when the morning's sun has come, 

And my mission I have done, 

With tearful eye I say good-bye 

Until again to you I come. 

Dedicated to Miss Evelyn Taylor, 
Stockton, Georgia. 

March 12, 1926. 


R01237 bb337 

Montana Composition 

Serial Number 160 

?w tlj? i&aB?8 Mloam for fnu 

We went walking thru the garden, where the 

roses were in bloom, 
Darling Montana, sweetheart, ever kind and 

And we knew of no sorrow when we talksd of 

tomorrow — 
As we walked along the river pathway, 
Thru Paradise, where the roses grew. 

Now there's a grave by that deep, blue river, 

Where the roses bloomed and grew, 

And up in beautiful Heaven, Darling Montana, 

Who was ever kind and true; 
But when I think of tomorrow 
Sadly my heart it is turned into sorrow, 
As I walk alone the pathway in the graveyard 
Where the roses bloomed and grew. 

In the garden of my sorrow, darling, when I 

think of you tomorrow, 
In my heart there are roses always blooming 

dear, for you, 
And my heart for you is sighing — 
In the garden the petals of the roses are 

And in sympathy and plaintiveness the whip- 

porwill is crying — 
Where the roses bloomed for you. 

Always in my heart there is a sorrow when 

I think of you tomorrow, 
As I walk thru the garden where the roses 

bloomed and grew — 
But now I can hear the robin red-breast 

Joys of you from Heaven they a^e bringing — 
As all aione I am walking thru the garden 
Where the roses bloomed, and grew- for you. 

Dedicated to Miss Folcee Bower, 
Abbingdon, Virginia. 


Oakridge, Palmdale, Florida. 

Dec. 29th, 1927. 


Chapter Page 













(§m Enuri* ©n? 

In loving memory of our dear daugh- 
ter and sister, who died two sad years 
ago today at Houston, Texas. 


Oak Ridge, Palmdale, Florida 
October 19, 1926 

THIS little booklet is not posed as a work of 
literary art (all the fantastic imaginations of 
a novelist having been excluded), but it is written 
in the simple language adapted to the father in 
memory of his only beloved daughter, Montana, 
whose life was unmercifully sacrificed for the gain 
of money by her being furnished with defective 
equipment to use in that hazardous occupation. 

There are many morals contained herein. I trust 
that perusal of the pages may point them out and 
that you may glean the beauties and noble traits of 
character of this darling daughter and sister, that 
her memory may live in your life until the end. 

In a vision she came to me in her fall to earth, 
and I faithfully believe it was her wish that I spread 
her love and memory to you through this little book. 

To readers and recipients of the book: I will 
gratefully appreciate a postal card of acknowledg- 
ment or comment. (Postal card preferred on ac- 
count of uniformity in filing.) 

Copies of this book will be mailed postpaid, free, 
as long as the supply lasts, upon request to 


Glades County. Palmdale, Florida. 

— 5 

Far away down in the State of Texas, 

Upon a bright and smiling Autumn day, 

With three parachutes strapped on her belt — 

Her heart light, happy and gay, 

In a seventy-five foot balloon, from earth flew 

away — 
The heroine of this story, our darling Montana 

She drifted a mile high, up into the azure sky; 
Within her loving heart, no thought that she 

was going to die. 
The crowds gasped in wonder at her daring feat, 
And little did they reckon her death she would 


As the breath of the winds smoothed the ringlets 

and curls 
Over the head of the world's fairest and dearest 

of girls; 
The hand of God she kissed with her last breath 
As from earth to heaven her spirit-soul left. 
Nestled in a little casket of snowy white, 
Her precious little body was sent that night 
To her Grandma, whom she always loved so dear; 
To friends that her smiles had given cheer — 
Back to the little town she had visited each year. 
But it was only her lifeless body we were sending 

Far away up in Heaven, in that city so fair, 
Her dear spirit soul was in God's tender care. 

Mournfully the organ pealed the music 

Upon that sorrowful and lonely day; 

At the little Christian Church across the way, 

From her Grandmother Walker's home on that 

fair October day. 
The pallbearers carried that sweetest girl — 

Montana LeMay. 
To the altar of the Christian Church that stood 

just across the way — 
That oft in her life's gleefulness and childhood 

around that she had played. 

The soloist sang the song — 

"God be with you till we meet again;" 

The echoes from heaven sounded now and then. 

The sermon of God's master of the Lord, 

Taught of living close to God and of one accord. 

"Beautiful Isle of Somewhere!" that sweet 

refrain ; 
I can hear the angels up in heaven 
Sing it o'er and o'er again ; 
The benediction and the blessings of her god, the 

great Jehovah, 
And the funeral of Montana, our darling 

daughter, and sister, was over. 

The church bell tolled solemnly as the long 

procession moved silently away, 
That bore the darling body of our dearest little 

Montana LeMay. 
Garlands of wreaths and flowers were strewn 

along the pathway; 
To beautiful Glencove cemetery, to her little 

And by the side of Blue River's waters she was 

Where the shadows and the branches of the elms 

will shade 
Precious Montana, our darling little heroine, 
Who of death was unafraid. 

In our hearts dearest Montana will go on and on 

forever living. 
The thunder roared and the lightning flashed 

from out the sky 
O'er the grave of the little heroine that in her 

youth had to die. 
And that night the beautiful stars of Heaven 

Forgetmenots of the angels by her side. 
And in the hearts of Montana's friends are the 

sad memories 
Of her last and thrilling parachute ride. 
And the trumpets of the Lord doth call — 
Behold, I am the King, the Ruler over all. 


Oak Ridge, Palmdale, Florida. 

October 19, 1926. 

THIS little booklet is not posed as a work of 
literary art (all the fantastic imaginations of 
a novelist having been excluded), but it is written 
in the simple language adapted to the father in 
memory of his only beloved daughter, Montana, 
whose life was unmercifully sacrificed for the gain 
of money by her being furnished with defective 
equipment to use in that hazardous occupation. 

There are many morals contained herein. I trust 
that perusal of the pages may point them out and 
that you may glean the beauties and noble traits of 
character of this darling daughter and sister, that 
her memory may live in your life until the end. 

In a vision she came to me in her fall to earth, 
and I faithfully believe it was her wish that I spread 
her love and memory to you through this little book. 

To readers and recipients of the book: I will 
gratefully appreciate a postal card of acknowledg- 
ment or comment. (Postal card preferred on ac- 
count of uniformity in filing.) 

Copies of this book will be mailed postpaid, free, 
as long as the supply lasts, upon request to 

Glades County. Palmdale, Florida. 

— 5 


».»' «»'■«» <- 

Please d write in this 

book or tun; uown the pages 



TYPICAL of the West in those early pioneer 
days shortly after the advent of the line of 
steel rails laid by the Northern Pacific railway and 
the golden spike that united the twin cities of Minne- 
sota unto the Pacific Ocean, our far western home 
on the border line of the states of Montana and 
Wyoming situated on the Montana side, nestled in 
beneath the towering mountains that raise their 
lofty peaks ten thousand feet into the heavens of the 
beautiful azure skies above, on the banks of that 
beautiful and commanding Yellowstone Eiver, 
whose rushing waters, dashing madly onward 
against the huge boulders, crevasses and gorges 
that lie in its path, sending forth a mist and spray 
of yellowish-golden waters — marvelous to behold, 
and of magnificent grandeur. 

A small hamlet of perhaps some two dozen 
houses, mostly of log construction with chinking of 
adobe, formed an interesting and picturesque scene 
of the early days of Cinnabar, Montana, inhabited 
by a moral, intelligent class of people of the fron- 
tier type. The grizzly old prospector, the cowboy, 
the old wagon freighter and the stage coach driver 
all made up the population of our quaint little 

We were in the midst of a small but fertile 
valley which under irrigation grew abundantly in 
three short summer months our supply of vege- 
tables and flowers of sweet perfume and fragrance 
which dotted the landscape here and there in pro- 
fusion with their many and varied colors of won- 
drous beauty. 

At the terminal of the Northern Pacific railway, 
entrance to the Yellowstone National Park, into 

that fairyland of mystery, romance and enchant- 
ment — of petrified forests, geysers, pools and lakes 
of blue and purple waters — were stationed long 
lanes of the transportation company's Concord 
coaches brilliantly painted in shining bright yellow 
that was intermingled into the picture of paradise. J 

The narrow mountain road, winding in and out , 

along precipices and over canyons, trailed onward 
and upward in a gradual ascension, with the beau- 
tiful mists and sprays of the waters of the Yellow- j 
stone and Gardiner rivers at a dizzy distance far 
below, unfolded to one the revelations of unsur- 
passed grandeur on arriving at the Mammoth Hot 
Spring Hotel, some three miles interior from the 
park boundary line and the railway terminal. 

Attracted to this bewildering beauty spot were 
many artists of world fame and renown, who 
plunged forth into the canyons and mountains 
along the river shores standing with palette and 
brush in hand in awe and amazement of the beau- 
ties revealed to them of which nature had so 
bounteously lavished her charm. 

Winters of long duration and intensity, pure air 
of an exhilarating freshness, bright days and starry 
nights, crisp, cold, and delightful, with heavy snow- 
fall in the mountains and the passes, brought to 
our very door yard large herds of elk, antelope and 
deer that grazed in the lowlands unmolested by the 
inhabitants. The ideal gift of nature that provi- 
dence had bestowed on this particular and remote 
region were abundantly provided for in its mar- 
velous scenery and charm of exquisite beauties. 

At this enchanted place there came into our home 
a life so sweet, so fair, and delicately perfumed 
with the love of God, that our happiness was com- 
pleted. A beautiful little daughter, fair, golden 
hair, eyes of blue, a sweet disposition of purity and 
godliness — bewitching smiles of radiant beauty 
shown from her dear face as a halo of love from 

— 8 — 

the heavens above. So infatuated were we with 
our ideal gift of God's angel, that to us, those were 
dreamy days, weeks and years of supreme happi- 
ness that time can never efface, and it is with 
recollections of love and sincerity that I pause in 
memory of her rock-a-bye baby days. 

In that invigorating climate she grew wonder- 
fully healthy to a large, strong baby girl. She was 
our pride, our joy and happiness, christened 
Norvella Montana, named after her Aunt Norvella 
and the state of her birth. Upon recommendation 
of two eminent physicians, Dr. Allen, of the Mon- 
tana Coal and Coke Company, and Dr. A. E. Brad- 
ley of the U. S. A., of Fort Yellowstone, Wyoming, 
as to the healthfuiness and nutriment derived from 
a certain brand of condensed milk, it was decided 
that would be her diet, which with thanks to the 
Eagle Brand Milk Company, their product proved 
all that was claimed for it, and which is hereinafter 
referred to as "at the bottle" in telegrams. On a 
short visit to the Pacific Coast, strongly at the 
solicitation of a relative, Mrs. Vie McKown, of 
Spokane, Washington, we were to leave little Mon- 
tana with her while Mrs. LeMay and I visited at 
Portland, Tacoma and Seattle, Washington, where 
we were to receive tidings, of our dearest little 
Montana daily via the Western Union Telegraph 
Company. Copies of those messages are below, 
that I have carefully preserved in a scrap book, 
along with other memories these many years. 

RK— 245— Am— A— B 

Mammoth Hot Springs, Wyo., June 18, 1896. 
Late LeMay, 

Upper Basin, Yellowstone Park, Wyo. 
Baby is all right. J. 

8— SK— A— KN— 1 0— D— H— 1 2 0— PM 

Spokane, Wash., June 26, 1896. 
Late LeMay, Tacoma, Wash. 

Norvella getting along nicely. She is at the bottle now. 

Mrs. J. H. McKown. 

PO— 94— U— RA— 9— DH 

Spokane, Wash., June 27, 1896. 
Late LeMay, Seattle, Wash. 

Norvella is well and sleeps good; getting along fine. 

Mrs. J. H. McKown. 

64— SK— A— N9— DH— 129— PM 

Spokane, Wash., June 30, 1896. 
Late LeMay, Portland, Ore. 

Norvella is well. Don't hurry; have a good time. 

Mrs. J. H. McKown. 

After a brief visit on the coast we were anxious 
and eager to return to Spokane, get our darling 
child, and get back to our modest little home among 
the mountains, which in no way would compare 
with the modern and pretentious homes and hos- 
telries we had sojourned in on our brief visit, which, ; 

by the way, I believe would have proven more en- 
joyable to the dear young mother had she had her 
precious darling, Montana, with her. However, it 
would have been difficult indeed to have found a 
more experienced and faithful person than our dear 
relative, Mrs. McKown, to have entrusted our 
dearest child with. Upon returning to Spokane, 
we were gratified beyond expression to find our 
little Montana in the pink of babyhood, happy and 
smiling, as usual, and she actualy welcomed us 
back, notwithstanding her young months of life. 

Again reaching our Cinnabar home and taking 
up our regular duties and routine of life, we were 
happy with the love and existence of our dear little 
Montana. It was not possible to obtain all articles 
of modern furniture in our location, at other than 
exhorbitant prices; consequently we indulged in , 

the home-made articles of furniture quite exten- 
sively. I remember with a vivid recollection that 
upon returning from our wedding trip from 
Indiana and beginning our housekeeping, the first 
meal I sat perched upon a soap box for a chair. 
Above me was the sunlight of Heaven shining 
through the cracks in the ceiling. Our neighbors 


were of the broad-minded class. It did not matter 
to them whether we used soap boxes or the exqui- 
site mahogany dining chairs. Let it be mentioned 
that the food placed on top of that home-spun table 
was par-excellence — golden-brown biscuits, baked 
pheasant, yellow sweet potatoes with rich, savory 
gravy, and chocolate served in the most appetizing 
manner by my dear little wife as her initial meal. 
In our new married life of companionship, need it 
be said, there were many more such meals that 
would have put the chefs of the Waldorf-Astoria 
into the discard. 

Charming, dainty, and dearest little Montana — 
her cradle was a huge rocking chair, with many 
pillows banked in it. Tucked in fluffy, soft blan- 
kets, she would lie there drinking her milk from a 
bottle through a rubber arrangement, and it's here 
I take off my hat to that person who perfected that 
rubber hose attachment for a child's nurse bottle. 
We had began to notice that Montana, in her in- 
telligent and cunning way, had discovered that by 
giving little jumps she could start the large chair 
to rocking, and gradually gaining momentum, until 
she was sailing along as on a merry-go-round. She 
would move and sway her little body just enough 
to keep the chair in motion as her fancy desired for 
that joy-ride. Fearing some day that an accident 
might happen to her, Mrs. LeMay conceived the 
bright idea of blocking the chair with a stick of 
stove wood. No sooner thought of than done — it 
was a characteristic of the western people to act 
quickly — you get the bear or " Injun" before they 
get you. We had not anticipated anything to 
happen to little Montana with that stick of wood 
as an anchor and life preserver, but behold — to our 
utter astonishment as we looked into the other room 
one day where Montana was lying in the great 
chair (we had but two rooms, it is remembered) 
she pulled off an acrobatic stunt of the spectacular 

11 — 

for our entertainment and consideration. By some 
backward movement she had dislodged that pet 
chunk of stove wood from under the chair, and 
bounding forward, she turned a complete double 
summersault, alighting on a bunch of soft coyote 
rugs that were on the floor, with a smile of expec- 
tancy on her countenance as anticipating a tre- 
mendous applause from the grandstand for the 
thrilling play she had staged to an audience of 
two — father and mother. 

A few more happy months had quickly passed 
and dear Montana was now near the age of eigh- 
teen months old, or rather eighteen months young, 
and had began to talk. "What's that?" were her 
first spoken words — a musical voice of sweetness 
and charm in the pronouncing of her words. She 
was possessed of a ravenous appetite and her 
strong constitution permitted the eating of any, 
and almost everything. Particularly was she fond 
of those delicious pies her dear mother so fre- 
quently made, more especially of the top frostings 
of sweetness, and the fillings of those splendid pies. 
Notwithstanding the fact that she ate plenty of pie 
and other foods during the day, she cultivated a pet 
habit of waking us up in the night at about two or 
three o'clock — at that rosy hour of dreamland — and 
saying, "I want pie — give me pie." Her dear 
mama would reply, "No, no; sweet little Montana 
must not eat pie at night; go to sleep, little pre- 
cious, and you can have pie tomorrow." But dear 
little Montana would come right back, "Pie; I 
want pie. I'll go to sleep if you'll give me pie." 
And the dear little mother gave pie to this dear 
baby girl at her youthful age in the mid-hours of 
cold nights, and all the years of her life continued 
making those delicious pies for her darling, Mon- 
tana, all of her life on this beautiful earth. 

Many days and months quickly passed by and 
in another month brought to us a glorious day — the 

12 — 

twelfth of March — her third birthday. Three big 
years old today was our darling, Montana. On 
that bright sunny morning her mother dressed her 
in a pretty dress of real pale blue with tiny lace 
woven into a dainty collar with a little gold ribbon 
encircling her fair little neck and throat. She 
looked charming beyond expression of words. This 
day was to be devoted exclusively to Montana and 
her own ideas of entertainment and happiness. 
Her many dolls were equally as artistically dressed 
and decorated with bright ribbons of many attrac- 
tive colors. Her guests began to arrive at an early 
hour, as we began to take into the room provided 
for her party, doll after doll, presenting them to 
her just as if they had in reality been a caller. 
Half of the large room had been given over to her 
for her party. On the floor were many beautiful 
rugs of the wild animals of that region — bear, bob- 
cat, coyote, and many skins of deer, elk and ante- 
lope. A pretty little play table with a beautiful 
little Irish linen tablecloth, dainty colored and 
white dishes, pitchers of cream, chocolate and 
water, were at her disposal. She immediately 
began indiscriminately re-arranging the setting of 
that little table to her own dear fancies and liking, 
upsetting little pitchers of water or milk, mixing 
them together with the art of a connoisseur. This 
occupied her time for many hours. Sitting and 
leaning her dolls at the table, they tumbling over 
in all sorts of positions, gave to her childish fancy 
and delight such happiness as only can come in 
those rock-a-bye days of babyhood. She was pleas- 
antly entertained in the afternoon by a shopping 
expedition; not after the fashion of today's metro- 
politan shopping style with a chauffeur and limou- 
sine at their command from department store to 
department store, plunging madly into the stores, 
bumping, jostling, edging through that mass of 
surging humanity to this counter and that counter, 

— 13 

but our shopping trip was of a less strenuous 
nature. We took for our department store, or 
stores, those mammoth mail order catalogs, which 
are so extensively used in the West and South and jl 
remote settlements, which so accurately illustrate 
and describe all known articles of merchandise in { 
such a vivid manner as to make them appear j 
realistic. Little Miss Montana had on her table for | 
her evening dinner party — dishes filled with pretty l 
and delicious golden-brown tarts with pretty rasp- 
berry, grape, and apple jellies on top, and in be- 
tween the crusts, the tiniest and best little pies ever 
that her dear mama had made for her, some with 
top crusts, others with little strips and zig-zags 
running every way; animal cakes of her friends, 
the dogs and the cats, pigs, goats and sheep, of 
which she was ever and always so fond, and all of 
her dear life was so ever kind and true to. I can 
in my fancy now see her dearest little chubby white 
hands reaching out to caress them when they would 
be near. After she had grown somewhat weary of 
her dinner and had eaten to her heart's content of 
those tarts and little pies, we opened the pages 
of one of America's largest mail order catalogs for 
her perusal, turning page after page, showing her 
the beautiful colored pictures of what she would 
mostly admire — dolls, teddy bears, baby buggies, 
etc. She readily decided that more dolls were 
needed and a teddy bear. Slowly, slowly turning 
the pages through that large catalog, we came to 
the doll carriages, of which she picked one, then to 
the larger ones for her own dear self. She would 
pat her pretty little hand right down on one of the 
pictures repeatedly, which to my imagination and 
interpretation was the one that she fancied the 
most and desired — and accordingly, in the course of 
a few weeks, we had come into possession of it. 
The consignment also brought many little toys that 


we had selected for her in memory of that happy 

The excitement of the day put little Miss Mon- 
tana to her little snow-white bed in early dream- 
land, her dear little mother ever watching her 
gently, as the shadows of night began to fall on the 
eve of a beautiful day. forever and forever to be 
remembered by father and mother. 

Backward, turn backward, O time, in thy flight; 

Could we but live over those happy times just for tonight — 

Sit and look at her as she so sweetly lies in her bed, 

Smooth and caress the ringlets on her dear curly head, 

Pick up all the scattered toys she left on the floor after play, 

Fold up all the doll dresses, shoes and stockings — put them 

Live once more in our lives as we did on her third birthday. 

Our dear Montana now had a big baby brother to 
play with in addition to her many dolls, books and 
games. Montana's baby brother was named Eoger 
Dean — Eoger, after that great oil king and railroad 
magnate, Mr. H. H. Eogers ; Dean, the other fellow, 
who successfully kept the other fellows from steal- 
ing Eogers' railroads and oil interests. Eoger was 
a fine large baby and little Miss Montana evidently 
admired him very much by the way she hung 
around that same big rocking chair, minus the stick 
of stove wood. The father, being somewhat of an 
inventive nature, had fastened an air brake attach- 
ment to one of the rockers to hold it rigid when so 
desired. Ours was the happy family — two dear 
babies — Norvella Montana and Eoger Dean. It has 
always been a mystery to me from whence they de- 
rived their wondrous beauty, but upon deep reflec- 
tion, it is conceded from my wife's side of the 
family tree. 

Along about this time the father was tendered a 
lucrative position at Wheeling, West Virginia, with 
a transportation company, that was after due con- 
sideration accepted, and within a month's time 

found us ready to bid our pioneer day friends a 
fond adieu, distributing to them our home-made 
articles of household furniture that had so faith- 
j fully served our purpose thus far of our happy 
days of married life, shipping and checking only a 
few personal articles of more value, carried from 
sentimental memories. Through special courtesy 
of that grand gentleman, Mr. W. H. Lowe, general 
baggage agent of the Northern Pacific railway, who 
has now gone to the great beyond, I was given over 
the use of a special baggage car to transport my 
vast collection of mounted animal heads — elk, deer, 
antelope, bob-cat, and Rocky Mountain sheep, and I 
still had left plenty of them living and roaming the 
valleys and mountains in Uncle Sam's big Yellow- 
stone Park. In testimony of the esteem our pres- 
ence had been recognized by the inhabitants, our 
farewell article from those dear friends appears 
below, bearing three signatures The balance of f 
the natives, having lost the art of penmanship, gave I 
silent tribute to our departing by subscribing their 

mark along the dotted lines, which to us I 

holds a dearer part in their memory than the 
eulogy of beautiful spoken words. 

Cinnabar, Montana, December 2, 1898. 
To Mr. and Mrs. LeMay: 

It is with deep regret that we witness the parting of our 
dear old friends today — Mr. and Mrs. LeMay — and we earn- 
estly hope to bring forth retrospective pictures commemorat- 
ing the pleasant occasions passed with them while in our town, 
Cinnabar. May God bless you through this broad world of 
ours and ever make it pleasant, that you may enjoy peace- 
fulness and happiness therein. 


Ever yours, 

Aug. Schmidt Robert McCune Albert V. Hoppe 

Our trip from Cinnabar to Indianapolis, Indiana, 
was without incident, excepting the rare compli- 
ments bestowed upon Montana with her golden 
curly head, and baby Eoger by our fellow passen- 
gers in that luxurious Pullman car (which, by the 
way, was the only thing that I had to put up real 
coin for on the journey). Stopping at St. Paul, 
Minnesota, between trains, I availed myself of that 
golden opportunity of saying good-bye and fare- 
well to my dear and kind friends, Mr. A. M. Clel- 
land, then chief clerk in the passenger department \ 
of the Northern Pacific railway, now passenger j 
traffic manager; to dear Mr. W. H. Lowe, general 
baggage agent, and to Mr. Chas. S. Fee, general 
passenger agent, also both of the Northern Pacific, 
Mr. Lowe and Mr. Fee both having passed away 
from the land of the living. May God repose their 
spirit souls in rest and happiness for their personal 
traits of character and generosity while on this 
earth of sorrows and happiness. Enroute, we 
stopped off at the old home town of our childhood 
and birth, at Charlottesville, Indiana, a quiet, 
sleepy little village of modest homes, cottages of 
home-like architecture, situated on a little hill 
above the banks of Six-mile, with the old swimming 
hole, steam railway line through the burg with 
trains that rarely ever stop in their great speed 
between those majestic cities of St. Louis and 
"Washington, D. C, where Calvin Coolidge has 
made it possible as well as impossible, interurban 
lines that cater to the town and which receive the 
patronage, three churches whose towering steeples 
shining under that bright December sun, welcomed 
us back to the place of our birth, our parents, our 
relatives and friends. We found well, happy and 
generally prosperous, my wife's family, Mr. W. R. 
Walker and Mrs. Anna Walker, father and mother ; 
Sisters Caressa, Glenn, Dell, and Mabel, and 
Brother Thomas, who is generally called Tom by the 

17 — 

girls of his wide acquaintance; my father and 
mother, Mr. A. F. LeMay and Lizzie LeMay, 
Sisters Flora and Mattie, Brother Morrie, and mul- 
titudes of other relatives. My dear wife, Ellis, 
and I, were far remote from the center of attrac- 
tion, which was centered around those two children, 
Montana and Soger. Naturally, of course, why 
should not the beautiful little golden curly-headed 
Miss Montana come in for the largest share of at- 
traction, as she most certainly did, and to my way 
of thinking, rightfully deserved. Montana was a 
natural little entertainer and her companionship 
was much sought after by the younger class as well 
as those dear older people. It was forever my de- 
light and my happiness and pleasure to take Mon- 
tana with me any place that I could, for the smiles 
she received, the pretty words people spoke of her 

, in her wonderful beauty and pleasing ways and 

personality was gratifying in the extreme to me. 

Completing a delightful visit of a week with our 
parents, friends and relatives, we arrived in the 
metropolis of Wheeling, West Virginia, a substan- 

j tial little city of manufacturing. Articles of glass, 
pottery, iron and steel, boots and shoes and many 
others were made. There were beautiful parks and 
playgrounds and congenial and hospitable people. 
We were soon comfortably at home in a nice apart- 
ment with some city frills thrown in as extras, but 
as much as I would try, I could not dispense with 
that lonely feeling for the old rocking chair with 
that huge chunk of wood in those rock-a-bye baby 
days of dear Montana, who was now four years old, 
and had for her playmate little Miss Mildred Pratt, 
of about the same age. Mildred had dark hair and 
eyes, while Montana, with her light golden hair 
falling in curls over her beautiful face, from which 
shown her beautiful eyes of blue, formed a pleasing 
contrast. They attended Sunday School together 
in the second block, same side of the street, walk- 

— 18 

ing along hand in hand together — a living picture 
of purity and loveliness. Montana's collection of 
story books accumulated rapidly and I was pressed 
into service reading to her at noons and evenings 
from those story books, illustrated with pretty 
bright pictures here and there pertaining to the 
subjects of the stories, some of which were quite 
lengthy. She had a wonderfully cute little habit of 
getting several books and waiting for me with them 
opened to the pictures that she wanted to hear the 
story of, and actually after a very few readings of 
a story she completely committed that story to read 
it herself from the picture by memory, several 
stories from many books. I have to a somewhat 
minor extent observed this in other children, but 
never have I seen a child that could memorize such f 
a number of stories and so accurately read them \ 
from only a picture as an inspiration as she did. \ 
Long, long gone by are those days of her rock-a-bye j 
baby days which will live in our memory forever 
and forever. 

19 — 





THOSE fast fleeting days of little Montana with 
her ringlets of gold were passing by. Her 
sweet, sunny disposition was ever more enhanced 
by the beautiful clusters of natural golden curls 
that reached to her shoulders; her fair, winsome 
face was more and more radiantly beautiful as the 
days and months went by; she was the emblem of 
loveliness and sincere in her devotion and kindness 
to her playmates and friends, always generously 
dividing with them all of her toys, candy and books, 
and happy in their delight at receiving them, 
always cheerful, happy and gay. The only sadness 
interwoven into her young life was when it ap- 
peared to her that others may have been unkind or 
mistreated her dearest of all animal friends, the 
dogs and the Eats, ,of whjch .she was always so pas- 
sionately , fond. Those dear dumb creatures had in 
her. the truest and best friend, and immediately in 
their-natural instinct, they recognized it, and would 
come to ii^r -side, or, Jie^at^hev feet, with words of 
love expressed though iheir kind eyes for this 
dearest girl with the ringlets of gold. 

Montana, with her mama, was out shopping one 
pretty sunny day, stopping in at my office. Upon 
a pretty little invitation from Montana, I accom- 
panied them, walking slowly to our home, some six 
blocks distant, Montana snowing us all of those 
pretty things in the large display windows. Pres- 
ently we came to one large store, and those win- 
dows, so extremely grand, so beautiful, and her 
delight ; many, so many dolls, great large dolls with 
real, natural hair and eyebrows, and so real that 
they could almost talk. Of course, Montana, having 
an eye for the beautiful, picked out a doll with 

— 21 — 

handsome, lovely light brown hair, pretty eyes, and 
dressed stylish and beautiful, very near twenty- 
four inches high, and as large as dear Montana 
herself — so large that her papa had to carry it 
home in a pretty paper box wrapped in nice 
paper. Her mama made aprons for this new doll 
and dresses for morning and evening wear, prettily jj 

working a patch-pocket of other pretty material of j 
gaudy brightness on one dress. Montana daintily j 
tucked one of her pretty little bordered handker- \ 

chiefs into the pocket with a tiny bit of the border 
peeping out, and took her bottle of perfume and 
generously applied it to their clothing, which added 
to the charm of her happiness. Sometimes getting 
the bottle of smelling salts to relieve their head- 
aches gave to her a variety of childish entertain- 
ment and amusement. Little Miss Montana was up 
bright and early the next morning and was study- 
ing patiently trying to find some nice name for that 
dear new doll. She had Louise, who c was only just 
a trifle smaller, also quite ^family of other smaller 
dolls of various sizes and colors of hair. - .Montana 
was waiting for me when I came to lunch to tell me 
of the name she had decided on — Eva Lyle^f or the 
new doll. " What a 'j^tt^rn^B&e, and I anVfere you 
will like it," she enterfcfimffy 6 Shattered, holding 
her up with both hands for my inspection and ap- 
proval of the name. Eva Lyle's next largest sister 
doll was named Louise. j 

Today, tomorrow, and forever, those two large j 
dolls, Louise and Eva Lyle, may be found carefully 
placed away in a pretty little cedar chest, dressed j 
with undergarments and beautiful dresses that i 
Montana's dear mother made for them in the days j 
of the ringlets of gold. Frequently this dear 
mother may be seen at this little cedar chest with J 
a far-away look on her dear face, with an aching 
heart, while a tear bedims her eye, holding one of 
those dolls in fond and loving memories of the days 

— 22 

of her only and dearest daughter, Montana, with 
the ringlets of gold. 

Montana gave her dolls many parties, the larger 
dolls bringing the smaller ones as their children. 
The door bell ringing, Montana would receive them 
with an affectionate welcome and politeness, remov- 
ing their wraps and hanging them in the reception 
hall, talking to them in an entertaining and pleas- 
ant manner that made them feel a welcome of hos- 
pitality, and all present soon entered into the spirit 
of the party, playing games, having school, and 
whatever manner of entertainment they desired. 

Montana, with her mother, was a regular attend- 
ant at the matinees, she being passionately fond of 
the shows and plays. Particularly was she ever 
glad to see that old play, " Uncle Tom's Cabin," 
and was much in love with little Eva. Montana 
was always rehearsing the plays over with her dolls 
as actors and actresses, she of course always play- 
ing the character part of little Eva when playing 
over the " Uncle Tom's Cabin" play. Her acting 
was splendid and appeared to come natural for her, 
as in later years it developed, in the art of her 
effectiveness and eloquence of speaking, and her 
masterful conception of elocution and dramatic art. 

Her wonderful arrangements and pretty settings 
of those play stages showed marked ability beyond 
her years of age. In her captivating manner, Mon- 
tana, with her dolls, wound enthrall one into a 
fairyland of romance and happiness and perfectly 
qualified her for the emotional drama. Those dear 
little eyes looking up into mine, whose tears could 
be easily dried, and with the prints of ruby fingers 
pressed against the window panes; she carried 
onward and onward, your very inward soul in 
ecstasy of heavenly delight, sentimental sadness in 
rapturous eloquence of those childish plays in the 
days of her ringlets of gold. Into the daylight of 
the morning she awoke, refreshed in her childish 

glee with contentment of smiles and happiness, 
surrounded by her books and dolls, her pleasures 
of life. Studious, industrious and amiable, she 
whiled away those happy hours and days in mirth- 
fulness and glee, giving to her dear mother no 
worry or care, as does the average small child. 

In those days of her childhood, the residential 
section of the city was visited by vendors of ice 
cream in the form of a miniature ice cream cone 
called hoky pokies, selling at one cent each. Im- 
maculately and spotlessly clean in white apron was 
that dear old Arab from the Sahara desert with 
little cart and jingle bell, shouting in broken 
English, "Hoky Poky ice cream, one penny.' ' Of 
course Montana and Brother Eoger had that fel- 
low's measure and picture and the exact time he 
was due to arrive each day. Standing by that 
large open window, through which the ozone and 
the zephyrs from the Ohio Eiver wafted, they 
anxiously waited his arrival. Closer, closer the 
sound of the jingle-bells brought them nearer to 
their anticipated feast of more ice cream encased 
in a golden crust of horn or funnel shape. That 
very same old vendor, also with an eye for "the 
bizness," never failed to pay an admiring glance in 
the direction of that window, and stop. One after- 
noon on his rounds, Montana bought her hoky poky, 
Eoger standing there showing a somewhat de- 
pressed feeling. Montana asked Eoger, "Why 
don't you buy yours !" Eoger replied, "I — I— 
swallowed my penny." The combined efforts of 
Montana and Eoger were unable to enlighten that 
dusky gentleman as to the strange disappearance 
of that penny that the boy always had been in the 
habit of coming across with, but thanks to the good 
business judgment of those vendors, his conscience 
prompted his leaving one for Eoger, as in anticipa- 
tion of future trade from the boy. It was really 
amusing the way Montana would caution Eoger not 


to again swallow his penny on subsequent days. 
"You know, Roger, that hoky poky man will surely 
think we are playing jokes on him if you swallow 
the pennies and, etc.," were the trend of her 

However, cold, blustery winter days brought 
snow and ice, and the hoky poky man disappeared. \ 

On cold, wintry nights, dear little Montana would 
climb into our bed, chubby and dainty, walking 
along on the carpet with her little feet catching in 
her long nightgown of warm flannel with a little 
tiny pocket for her ' ' hanky. ' ' She would come and 
nestle up real close and say, "Hold my tiny, cold 
hands and my feet." And we would hold those 
dearest of all little hands and feet — such a delicate 
little person and so sensitive to the cold — she would 
soon be fast asleep. On her bed was so much bed- 
ding of real fluffy blankets it was difficult for her 
to move, yet she seemed to get cold. The old say- 
ing, "cold hands, a warm heart,' ' appears to be 
more than true in her case. 

Mildred and her large sister came after Montana 
to spend a couple of hours at their pretty little 
home with large, spacious yard, pretty ornamental 
shrubbery, flowers and trees, swings and toys of 
many kinds to play with. Mildred's father was a 
baker, with his shop right by their house, and Mon- 
tana came home with pretty cakes that Mr. Pratt 
had made for her with her name in sweet fro stings. 
She did not have a very hearty appetite for dinner 
because of eating so many of those little cakes 
while at Mildred's. Asking her dolls if they had 
been lonesome for her concluded another day's end 
of the many of her happy days. 

One pleasant day, into the sunlight of Heaven 
we wandered into the wildwood; along the shady 
brook, whose rippling and sparkling waters slowly 
wended onward into the majestic Ohio — dearest 
Montana, Roger, Mildred, Mollie and Edna, with 


her mama and her papa — away out into the country 
far beyond pretty Elm Grove, with a large basket 
filled with everything good, all her papa could 
carry, a short distance from where we left the street 
car. Such a glorious day — rope swings tied with 
the assistance of her mother to those long hanging j 
branches of trees, bent pins tied onto little strings | 

with little parcels of chicken meat and tiny crumbs | 

of cake for bait. Those dear children had a splen- \ 

did fishing excursion, and when early noon-day \ 
arrived, my, such splendid appetites in that cool, g 
invigorating air. Montana exclaimed in her delight f 

between bites of that good cake and those splendid 
pies, "Why, I never had so much to eat in my 
whole life." Mildred said, "Montana, if my papa 
was only here and had his bakery, wouldn't it be 
fine?" We ate a long time from that wondrous 
basket of goodies and after a while we all went up 
to a little hill, where there were many squirrels 
that would chase and climb just beyond the reach 
of those dear children and turn their little heads 
in saucy daring as if to say, "Catch me if you 

Pretty, old Grandfather Toad and his children, 
with their families, were out hopping around that 
lovely day, dressed in their new coats of brown and 
green, and their presence added much to the pleas- 
ures of those youngsters at their picnic. A small, 
wee bunny rabbit peeked his little nose out from 
the hedge and opened wide his large eyes at those 
dear children, and banteringly said, "You never 
can catch me," and away he ran to another little 
clump of bushes and gazed fondly at those pretty 
children, who were so dear to him, as they admired 
the little bunny equally as well. Eight close by the 
little bunny, in that very same bunch of bushes, 
little Miss Montana said, "Oh, oh, come quick and j 
see little bunny's nest and little blue eggs." "But \ 
bunnies don't have nests in trees," declared Mil- f 


— 26 — | 

dred, " those are eggs of a chicken, like my 
grandma has out at Irvington Lane. " Tweet,' ' 
came a little voice as the dear little mother blue- 
bird flew from the branches of a tree to the nest, 
"you city children are real pretty and gay, but you 
are not up-to-date on birds' nests.' ' 

Such giggling and fun as they did have. In the 
early evening we all went to our homes, with long- 
ing wishes for just another such happy picnic. 
Shortly there came to our little city, under the 
auspices of the Elks, a street carnival of fun and 
frolic. Two side streets were given over to the 
disposal of this amusing attraction. Booths of the 
city's business firms were gaily decorated with 
bright ribbons, waving banners, tinsel and gold 
ropes, all of which was fascinating and charming to 
behold. Side shows of various kinds, the tattooed 
man from India, the wild man from Borneo, picture 
galleries, the merry-go-round, the streets of Cairo — 
all of this entertainment had a genuine thrill for 
the younger class, as well as for the older. From 
actual observance there was equally as many 
elderly people on the carnival streets as there were 
young people. I was there myself, whenever my 
business permitted, "with bells on." This car- 
nival attraction appealed strongly to little Miss 
Montana; the side shows were her specialty. She 
admired little Eva and Topsy in their dancing 
skit, with short skirts and red stockings. To see 
Sambo eat fire, and many other daring things, were 
thrilling stunts to her imagination and happiness. 
Many of the things were fakes, pure and simple. 
I remember one day standing close to the show tent 
of the wild man from Borneo, in conversation with 
a gentleman acquaintance, I noticed the colored 
janitor from my office. I remarked, "Go in the j 

show," tossing him a complimentary ticket, Henry $ 
thanking me and disappearing behind the canvas. 
It was not long until there was an unusual commo- 

— 27 — 

tion occurring within that canvas. Henry, the 
janitor, had found his big six-foot-seven, over- 
grown boy as the attraction, playing wild man from 
Borneo, sitting down in a kind of a pit, with huge 
brass ear rings clamped onto his ears, enough 
paint on his dusky face to add color to the scene, I 
and rolling his large saucer-eyes, with the whites j 
predominating. Exit Henry with that overgrown \ 
nigger kid by the ear — "You git right to home, I 

Rastus Brown, to your mammy that's been looking I 
fer youse two days." Henry, the janitor, and the j 
kid had the best show on the ground, and free at 

Far, far down the winding streets, ablaze with 
their many colored lights, gaudy and brilliant tin- 
sels of silver and gold shining in its brilliancy, far 
down beyond the streets of Cairo, where the Arab's 
village was with those high and tall camels with the 
large humps on their backs, forming a complete 
saddle that you can sit in so awkwardly and live 
the days of the pilgrims of the desert in your 
fancies, with their teetering, swinging walk, that 
will kneel down for you to mount upon their backs 
for a ride, were to be found the daintiest and the 
sleekest little ponies and carts. Away down those 
streets that dear Montana with the ringlets of gold 
loved so well was the little shaggy ponies that were 
hitched to pretty little phaetons, that Montana 
would sit and ride in and drive those dear ponies 
around the ring track that they traveled slowly in 
a walk — in their lazy fashion. Those carnival days 
were thrilling days for her, long to be remembered, 
and she indeed had a good time, and gathered much 
food for thought for more doll shows and plays, 
that were still extensively employed by her, in the 
days of the ringlets of gold. 

Montana's school days, those glorious school 
days of her young life, were now at hand, and she, 
with little Mildred, her friend, had started to school 

— 28 

together in the same class of kindergarten school, 
into the mysteries of making from that soft clay all 
sorts of things, moulding into various forms and 
shapes, pleasing to their young imaginative minds, 
and without any criticism from the teachers per- 
il haps of consequence ; drawing and diversified other 
manners of occupation employing their minds and 
early training as a preliminary for their future 
work of schooling. Dear Montana, being of an un- 
usually studious nature, progressed in the art of 
mud-pie making rapidly and had rapid successive 
advancements in her classes, and at the wee age of 
six years came into possession of her first report 
card, a copy of which is submitted below, which 
shows that on her first report card she was pro- 
moted into the next grade. 

Second Class 
This certifies that Norvella Montana LeMay, of first year, 
grade three, has been found worthy of promotion to first 
year, grade two, Washington School. 

Grade — Scholarship Graded on a Scale of 100 

Spelling 85 Geography Deportment 100 

Reading 90 Arithmetic ... 90 

Writing 85 Language 

Drawing 85 History 

Kate B. Roberts, Teacher. 
W. H. Anderson, Supt. 
June 27, 1901. 

Devoted to her teacher, her friends and play- 
! things, she continued in her schools, always punc- 

\ tual, happy and gay. She lived the life of the 
! purity of an angel, ever becoming more and more 

' lovely, with her ringlets of gold, as the years 

■ went by. 

i Like sweet music pealing 

Far o'er the blue sea, 
Oft comes over me stealing 
Fond memories of thee. 

29 — 

■ ,«tKf§p£ 





A LIFE full of sunshine was dainty little Miss 
il Montana with her smiling, cheerful face, who \ 

was again living in the state of her birth away out \ 

in old Montana, far away from the Southland and jj 

her dear little friend, Mildred, down in Wheeling, | 

West Virginia. Her places of abode were numer- jj 

ous — Butte, Helena, Anaconda and Boulder. Dear 
little Miss Montana loved every one of those small 
western cities. They each held some special attrac- 
tion, but I surmise many heart throbs had she for 
those dear friends and things at Helena and Boul- 
der, at which places she resided the longest. Not 
quite seven years of age, she was a scholarly pupil ! 

at the schools in the cities mentioned, and the idol ' 

of her teachers and playmates. 
{ At Anaconda she enjoyed watching those small 

tram-cars winding up around the mountains with 
I their heavy loads of ore for the smelters, whose tall 
j chimneys rose several hundred feet above her. At 
| Butte the gold, silver, lead and copper mines, far 
| down into the earth, with shafts and tunnels to 
S reach them by hoisting cages as an elevator, with 
j genuine city ways and advantages, gave her many 
f pleasures in her young years of life. Boulder, 
beautiful Boulder, though not shown on the map so 
' large, was picturesque — large boulders, from | 
\ whence it derived its name, as large as city build- | 

I ings, craigy and majestically rising to wondrous j 

; heights; pretty valleys and dells; the mountain 
4 sides one gorgeous mass of living Christmas trees, 

I lovely, beautiful evergreen trees, as you buy in the 
days of Santa Clans, paying from one dollar to 
many more for, at the stores. Nature had indeed 
lavished her charms of grandeur on this enchanted 

— 31 — 

place. The Boulder Hot Springs, close by, fur- 
nished hot boiling waters of medicinal qualities; 
Mammoth Hotel and Cottages catered extensively 
to the week-end guests from Montana cities and 
elsewhere; state, public, and high schools afforded 
splendid educational facilities, and 'twas there that j 

dear little Montana's brilliancy of mind rapidly j 

developed, under the instructions of that winsome \ 

little teacher, Miss Sadie Maguire. Our residence I 

was perhaps a long mile from the school buildings, j 

and remote from the little town. I 

Little Miss Montana, with Brother Roger, walked 
down a curving, winding road to school. We were 
at an elevation of 1,000 feet above Boulder in that 
distance of one mile, on the side of the pretty 
mountains. My, my, how the little feet of Miss 
Montana and Roger fairly coasted them down that 
mountain trail, the entire distance being visible to 
the dear mother who watched those precious chil- 
dren from the porch and the windows. Neverthe- 
less, there was a certain amount of danger for 
those little children alone, as there were many wild 
animals. Wild cat, bear and those sneaking, treach- 
erous coyotes were plentiful, but nothing ever 
harmed them. Shortly there came into Montana's 
life one of her dearest friends, strayed or lost from 
somewhere, a large black Shepherd dog, with large 
j winsome brown eyes, all clean and shining in his 
glossy silken black hair. This faithful and intelli- 
gent dog came to Montana's side among many 
other school children one evening after school, 

i wishfully and lovingly coming home with her in a 

stately and grand manner, walking close by her, 
and on the following morning going with Montana 
and Roger to school, returning again with them in j 
the evening, dispelling many of our fears of anxiety i 
for them, as we were certain nothing would harm j 

them with that wonderful dog as their protection. 
Montana had made a pretty place in the cloak room 



for her dear friend to remain in during her school 
hours, but occasionally when the door would be left 
open a few minutes, that dog would come quietly 
and gently into the school room, walk up and down 
the aisles of little desks and seats, looking into the 
faces of the pupils until he would come to the seat 
occupied by the little golden-haired girl with those 
beautiful curls that he loved so well. My gratitude 
and thanks forever to Miss Sadie Maguire, teacher, 
for her comprehension of the situation. She imme- 
diately recognized that dog was the protection to 
those two dear children and permitted Eover, as 
Montana named him, to lie at the desk in which she 
saf during the hours of school. 

It was wonderful, those first days of Rover's at- 
tendance in the school room. When Montana's 
class was called to recite and she left her seat, of 
course Mr. Rover went with her, to the great 
amusement of the children, Montana returning with 
him to her seat, kindly talking to him to lie down 
nicely. She soon had him trained to remain at the 
seat during those recitations, but always would he 
rise and stand at her seat with loving eyes fixed on 
her during those recitals, just as a sentry on duty, 
lying down again upon her return to the seat. 
When walking to or from school there were many 
cattle, and invariably Rover would bring himself 
between the children and those cattle. That dearest 
of all the dumb family should have a monument at 
his resting place for the devotion he manifested 
toward dear Montana and Roger. The faithfulness 
and kindness to her by Rover may have been to 
some extent the foundation for her great love 
toward the dogs and the cats which she so dearly 
loved all her life. 
| I recall Montana's charming little friends at 

j Boulder in those long gone by years — Emma Ham- 

mer, Ruth Bowers, Robin and Verine Tindall, Lulu 
Hahn and Winnie Bartholomew. There were pretty 


play houses in the natural crevasses in the huge 
boulders, the ground was a carpet of wild flowers 
of dainty colors, pretty birds up in the mountains, 
birds' nests everywhere; grouse and prairie chick- 
ens, which she tried several times to raise — all of 
these pleasures formed the happy, happy days of 
little Miss Montana some three years and a half, 
when we moved to Helena, Montana. i 

Dear, dear Helena, an ideal little city, capital of 
the great treasure state, Montana, a pretty city of 
homes and of wealth with beautiful Broadwater 
Hotel and parks; boiling hot springs also nestled 
in beneath Mt. Helena with dark caves and mys- 
terious surroundings. Good movies and show 
houses were fascinating to dear Montana, and 
much enjoyed. She rapidly gained a number of 
dear little girl friends and then there were little 
parties, first at one girl's house and then at an- 
other's. I remember one unpleasant occasion at a 
party at our house, with perhaps a dozen girls and 
half that number of boys of the best families of the 
city. The occurrence happened in playing that 
great game of hiding the thimble and of course ': 

there had previously been taffy-pulling and the 
making of fudge, etc. One little bright-eyed boy 
had sticky fingers. Oh, that pretty, dainty little 
all white dresser of dear Montana's, with so many 
cute little drawers, was the very hiding place, and 
no one would ever look for the thimble in there. 
When he opened the drawer there laid her little 
beaded shopping bag, all fat and bulging out with 
its precious contents, and inside of that pretty bag 
with a silver chain handle that enabled her to swing 
it just as the large girls did when up town shop- 
ping, was a little tiny pocketbook. I'll say it was 
red, or blue, for those were dearest Montana's 
favorite colors. It was full of pennies, nickels, and 
now and then a bright dime. It was her Christmas 
saving fund. When that boy with the sticky hands 

34 — 

from eating taffy laid that little thimble right by 
the side of the bag, what do you suppose happened? 
Well, that little bag and the contents in some mys- 
terious way stuck to his fingers, and in some 
strange way also just dropped down into his pocket. 
The very next day Montana's dear mama had some 
more nickels for Montana and she went to put 
them away and behold — she discovered her loss. 
Now she used her great talent, and with the 
strategy of a general she told her dear friends, 
Ada, Helen and Ruth. Now those four girls had a 
wonderful secret among them, and what those four 
girls could not fathom out it would be needless to 
hand over to the Pinkertons. Ruth noticed one of 
the boys that attended the party eating candy the 
next day. Ada said that boy had never eaten candy 
at school before. Montana and Helen said he must 
have — well they figured that he was the boy with 
all those pennies, nickels and dimes. Then they 
planned a cunning trap for that little fellow who 
we will just call Jimmie. Ruth had a pleasant habit 
of changing her voice and she telephoned to 
Jimmie 's home to his mother on that very night. 
Talking just as a dear old grandmother would, she 
asked if her little boy Jimmie was home and to 
please call him to her side at the telephone, as she 
wished her to ask him a question: " Where did 

Jimmie get the money to buy the candy which he 

was eating at school today?" It worked fine. The 
pocketbook was returned minus a few nickels, but 
those girls never had the boy with the sticky 
fingers to any more of their parties. 

Living right by our house was little Miss Flor- 
ence Cowan, a winsome dark-haired little miss some 
two years younger than dear Montana, who was an 
excellent companion and well versed in the art of 
dressing and undressing dolls. Of course she was 
too young and inexperienced to attempt dressing 
Eva Lyle and Louise. Montana readily discovered 

35 — 

that Florence possessed unusual ability as an 
actress, as did also Miss Helen Helmer. Accord- 
ingly, with other talent — Ada, Ruth, Roger, and 
Arthur and Rayner Sampson — preparation for 
staging one of the greatest shows began in earnest, 
with Montana as director of casts, stage settings, 
etc. Now it happened that our close neighbor and 
friend, Mr. Cowan, had a large vacant store room 
on the rear of his lot facing a back street and it 
was kindly offered for the opera house. Rehearsals | 

were being held daily and everything was progress- | 

ing fine. As I was approached by the management, 
little Miss Montana, as to what price of admission 
to ask, I was granted that very rare privilege of 
being a spectator at a subsequent rehearsal, that I 
might intelligently arrive at the admission price. 
My conclusions were that the children could attend 
a show up town with movies and vaudeville com- 
bined for five cents and that to insure a full house 
we had better charge an admission of one cent, 
which after due consideration was accepted and 
agreed upon. Painted and penciled posters were 
made and passed around by those children and the 
night of their show arrived. They had a capacity 
house, finally hanging out the sign, "Standing 
Room Only." Many favorable comments were 
made as the audience departed for their various 
homes. Thei'e were no mishaps or pick-pockets. 
Upon special request the show was given again 
with another packed house. 

Such were the happy days of little Miss Montana 
with her dolls, friends, and playmates of her early 
life in the little' city of Helena which forever occu- 
pied a pleasant memory in her mind. Each year in 
that splendid month of September the state fair of j 

Montana was held. Out at the edge of the little j 

city was the fair grounds, where permanent, sub- j 

stantial buildings housed many splendid exhibits of | 

fruits, vegetables, and other entries. Never have I j 


— 36 

had the pleasure of seeing anything better at other 
fairs. Amusements and attractions of all kinds 
furnished thrills and enjoyment for dear little Miss 
Montana. There were pyramids and banks of 
golden and yellow apples for which that state is 
famous, and tables and aisles were filled with 
pretty red apples. One afternoon, with dainty little 
Miss Montana, Roger, mama, and some friends 
passing through the apple orchard, we saw a sign, 
"Please Don't Handle. " For the fun and amuse- j 

ment of Montana I reversed the sign, writing on 
the card, "Please Take One," and we withdrew to 
one side, innocently watching the throngs of people 
reading the sign and helping themselves to a nice 
large apple, until it was discovered by one of the 
fair attendants. We had at least given away a few 
hundred of those delicious apples as samples. A 
new creamery company offered a prize of great 
value for a name for their butter, and dear little 
Miss Montana took one of their cards to enter a 
name in the contest, and was to submit her choice 
of what she considered a suitable name for the 
butter. With her many samples of all known mer- 
chandise that she had gathered up in her rounds at 
the fair, she went home, and the following day dear 
j Montana selected the name of Golden Glow for the 
butter and laid her card away, but in some un- 
accountable way it was never turned in to the 

creamery company, which in a few days published 
the winning name in the newspapers, and behold, 
it was the very name that Montana had written 
down. She would at least have received half of the 
prize had she only turned in her card. 

Blue Bell was the name of her dearest little blue 
Maltese cat, and she had a little soft brush hid 
away in the back hall to brush and comb her pretty 
blue fur with. Dainty blue ribbon, so near the color 
of Blue Bell that it could hardly be seen, was tied 
in a little bow around her neck. Montana loved 


Blue Bell dearly and they would sit out on the 
green, velvety lawn and play and romp together in 
the halcyon days of her golden life. 

Could we kiss the ruby fingers of our darling child again 

With her life full of sunshine as it was then, 

See those smiles of affection as a sunbeam 'neath her picture 

Romping, playing in the yard, with her little Blue Bell cat. 

Roger's tiny little dog, Hubby, that was named 
after a man in Anaconda, was loved and idolized by 
dearest Montana. It frequently happened that 
Hubby would be missing for several days at a time 
and all of a sudden would come bouncing home 
with his pretty white feet patting against the 
screen door to be let into the house, with perhaps 
a pretty ribbon tied around his neck, showing that 
he had been with other children and had watched 
his chance to escape and come to his own home. 
Another very dear little friend Montana had at 
Helena was little Miss Stella Bamberry, and they 
whiled away many pleasant hours and days to- 
gether. Stella was also very much up-to-date in the 
making of doll dresses for her own and Montana's 
dolls. These were sad and joyful days combined 
together. Montana didn't just know she was say- 
ing good-bye to that legion of little friends in 
Helena, as she was going to move back to her old 
home again at Boulder, on the side of that beauti- 
ful, picturesque mountain, back to her host of 
friends and memories of those dear days of her 
young life — of her and Rover's school days. 
, Now it was only a short distance of thirty-five 
miles to Boulder, but those large engines they used 
in the mountains to haul passenger trains would 
puff and puff in going up the mountain sides, and 
it took them two long hours to make the grade to 
Boulder. With little dog Hubby sitting in the seat 
with Montana and Roger, little Blue Bell was com- 
ing in a special box car of furniture with soft lining 



in a box, plenty of chicken meat, gravy, and milk. 
Montana did wish that car would hurry and come, 
which it did that very next morning. It was 
switched to the unloading platform, right close 
behind the depot. Little Miss Montana could not 
wait — no, no — she could not wait for her papa to 
open that car door, but she and Eoger opened the 
large side door and went to that little box where 
Blue Bell was and opened the box to take her out. 
She gave one big spring and jump and away she 
went out through that open car door, down the 
mountain side, until lost from view. Never again 
did Montana see or hear from her. Blue Bell was 
always a nervous, " scarry' ' fraidy-cat. Such sor- 
row, such unhappiness for dearest Montana had 
been thrust into her little life of sunshine. Besides 
the sorrow of the loss of her cat, in her kindness 
and gentle loving nature she had that awful fear, 
that dreadful fear, that some wild animal might 
devour little Blue Bell. She and Roger, with little 
Hubby, roamed the mountains and the hillsides, 
looking down into deep, shadowy places, down into 
those hollow rocks and gorges, but the earth seemed 
to have completely and forever swallowed little 
Blue Bell. 
| One of the girls, seeing Montana's disappoint- 

j. ment, gave her another little kitten, which perhaps 
to some extent healed her broken heart and filled 
the place of Blue Bell. She named her new kitten 
Fluffy Ruffles and she was a playful, winsome cat 
and they had many good times together thereafter. 
In her residence at Helena, three more years had 
been added to dear Montana's young life and she 
was now thirteen years of age upon returning to 
her old home at Boulder. My, my, the changes in 
those little friends of the by-gone days. "Don't 
you know," she would say, "some of those girls, 
well, they have a few freckles," of which dearest j 

Montana's white, chubby face never had any, and ( 


— 39 — I 

some of those girls had grown chubby, short and 
fat; some of them were tall and stringy. But she 
said, after a week's time, that they had begun to 
look as natural as could be to her. j 

School days again — how fast they seemed to roll j 

around in those days of play and fun — back to the f 

same pretty school house at Boulder; but she j 

missed the company of her faithful dog, Rover, to | 

and from the school house. She was in a higher j 
grade now and her teacher was Mr. T. M. Sheehan, f 

a gentleman and a scholar, and much loved and ad- j 

mired by all. He taught several terms of school at 
Boulder, was a splendid teacher, and took an un- 
usual interest in Montana and her school work, 
giving Montana a knowledge in her many studies 
that would perhaps have taken several more years 
to acquire from other teachers. Continued days of 
school, intermingled with happiness and pleasures 
of life, were the days of this dear girl of the golden 
west in her scholastical way. 

Those bright wintry days quickly passed into the 
month of June, of roses, wild flowers, birds' nests 
and out-door play days again for Montana, Roger, 
Fluffy Ruffles and little Hubby— all out on the side 
of the mountains every day. Sometimes their 
friends from town came up to play with them 
and they whiled away the happy days of their 

There was much intense lightning and thunder 
showers in the summer months, and Montana, her 
mother and little Hubby were deathly afraid of the 
lightning. At the first peal of thunder that little 
dog, Hubby, would go running to Montana and 
then to the clothes closet door, trembling and shak- 
ing, wanting to get back into that dark, dark room, 
where he couldn't see or hear anything of the out- 
side world. Montana would open the door, closing 
it to within about an inch, and that dog stayed in 
there until the lightning was over. I had always 

40 — 

considered so much lightning in that locality was 
attracted by the large amount of minerals in the 
hills and the mountains. 

Those days are never to be forgotten — little doll 
buggies full of dolls, Eoger and Hubby and Fluffy 
Euffles trailing behind to a pretty nook for their 
afternoon play, Hubby chasing chip-munks, pretty jj 
birds and nests of young, all gave them such pleas- I 

ures as ever come to a child. j 

Another day of sadness — one lovely sunny morn- j 
ing Montana was asking Roger if he had seen little 
dog, Hubby. "Why, no; I have not seen him, and f 
he was not at home to his supper last night. ' ' They 
scoured those same hills and dark, mysterious 
places again, looking 'way down into those dark, 
yawning holes, into caves and other remote spots 
where a tiny dog might be, but alas, they did not 
find dear little Hubby. Again the next day the 
hunt continued for their little dog, calling his name 
and shouting to get an answer from him, without 
avail. There was a big mine close by with a num- 
ber of men working there who loved those children 
dearly and had so often noticed and admired them 
playing with their little dog. When those children 
told them of their loss, why don't you know, those 
kind-hearted men helped in the search, and with 
their knowledge of the many deep shafts they had 
into the earth, they looked through them all, and 
away far over to one side of their grounds they 
found dear little Hubby away down at the bottom 
of a shaft, unhurt, but not able to climb out, as he 
was thirty feet below the top of the earth. One 
kind gentleman held dear little Montana so she j 

could look down into that dark hole in the ground j 

and in her sweet words she called Hubby, telling i 

him not to be afraid now, that they would soon j 
bring him out. One of the young men got a long j 

extension ladder and the little dog was soon placed j 
into the loving arms of dearest Montana and gently \ 

carried home. She gave him all the milk and other 
food he could eat after his two days of fasting, and 
after fixing his little bed softer and flnffier than 
ever, he slept all that day and night. i 

There was great rejoicing with Montana and j 
Roger over the recovery of Hnbby. It is a wonder \ 
that more animals and stock are not found in the j 

bottoms of the many shafts that are left open and j 
unprotected, than falls prey to their yawning j 

depths. The Fourth of July was only a few days j 
away. Out in those small western cities it is pleas- 1 

antly celebrated with horse racing, foot races, the 
greased pig, dancing and fireworks in the evening. 
It just so happened that a large extra gang of 
Italian laborers were there laying steel on the 
railroad. Among the gang were several experts in 
the making of fireworks, which occupation they had 
followed back in sunny Italy. They made and dis- ' 
played the most gorgeous fireworks I have ever 
beheld, on the side of that mountain, right by the ■ 

depot, and it was immensely enjoyed by dear little 
Montana, as well as others. The celebration was 
without accidents and completed another glorious 
Fourth of July never to be forgotten by Montana. 

Our dearest Montana attended Sunday School 
every Sunday morning. Her Sunday School 
teacher, Miss Elsie Halford, was a charming young 
lady, a particular friend of our family, and dearly 
loved by little Montana. It was arranged by all of 
the churches, far and near, to conduct a Bible class 
correspondence among the scholars of the various 
Sunday Schools. The name that came out with 
Montana's in the assignment of their correspon- 
dents was Mr. Harry Schreck, of Pittsburgh, Penn- j 
sylvania, about Montana 's own age, and living right j 
close to her old home in Wheeling, West Virginia, 
and her dear friend, Mildred. Their letters were 
bright, snappy and interesting, contained many 
ideas of their Sunday School work and Bible read- 

— 42 — 


those books. One article from Montana's Easter 
greeting book follows : 

ings, and Montana and Harry continued their 
sociable correspondence many years, and subse- 
quently, many long years afterwards they met in 
person, through a pretty arrangement made by 
Montana's father, while we were visiting in 

Sadness was again thrust into the lives of dear 
Montana and Roger. Dear little dog, Hubby, was 
sick; so bad that he would not eat any of the food 
they would take him. His days were few, as they 
found him curled up in his bed, his little life gone 
out. There was real sorrow in their hearts. They j 
wrapped a pretty little blanket around his tiny body | 
and gently and tearfully buried him by one of those I 
big boulders that he had so often played around, I 

gathering pretty wild flowers to strew on his grave, 
and many, many days thereafter they placed flow- 
ers on that little grave. 

It was a happy trait of dear Montana several 
weeks before Christmas and Easter Sunday to 
spend many hours each day in the making of sou- 
venir books containing drawings and writings of 
her own composition, for her mother, brother, 
father, and numerous little friends. Those book- 
lets were artistically and handsomely prepared and 
showed much originality. I still retain some of 


Piccola lived in France. She was a poor little girl. She [ 

had no stockings to hang up for Santa Claus, so she put her j 

wooden shoes near the chimney. In the morning she found a 
dear little bird in her shoe. It had flown in at the window to 
get warm. Piccola fed the bird and took good care of it. 
She thought Santa Claus had brought it to her. 

Montana LeMay. 

In this locality there were large and pretty birds, 
called magpies, that closely resemble the jaybird, 
but are twice as large, that when taken young can 


be taught to talk, laugh and sing better than a 
parrot. They will soon learn to stay around the 
house without being confined to a cage, but in their 
wild state they are mean — they catch chickens as 
does a hawk, only are more daring and bolder in 
their cunning way. One day when Montana was 
out in the mountains she found a nest of magpies 
high up in one of those large cedar trees, and the 
young man at the mine, the very same one that 
rescued little Hubby from the bottom of the shaft, 
climbed the tree and brought her two of the dearest 
little birds, which she took home and put in a pretty 
box and would feed them, and after a very short 
time they had grown so large she had them talking f 
as natural as could be, saying many words and J 
laughing as naturally as a person. But dear Mon- J 
tana again had bad luck with her pets, one dying 
from a broken leg and the other from diphtheria. 
She had named her magpies Babe and Bess, and 
wrote the following poem at their death: 

(Written at the Death of Bess, the Magpie) 

I wandered o'er the mountain wild I 

All by myself one day. j 

The day was fine; so clear and mild, j 
'Twas just the time for play. 

I wandered on upon the hill, 

The Boulder mine to see; I 

The hill was steep and hard to climb, 

So I rested beneath a tree. 

I heard a noise just overhead, 

And looking up did see 

Two young magpies, who looked well fed, 

Chattering away at me. 

I had often longed to have a pet 
Of this very kind for my own, 
So I said, "I will have one yet, 
This day, ere the sun goes down." 


I had a friend at the mine 

Who was passing by just then. 

He said, "My friend, the tree I'll climb 

And have them ere you count ten." 

It was no sooner said than done, 
For away he went like a clap. 
I thought I never heard such fun 
As to hear them scold 'neath his cap. 

I took my treasures home that night 

As happy as could be. 

While they were young and could not drink 

I fed them from a spoon. 

Their names were Babe and Bess. 
I often took them out to play 
And put them on my dress 
To teach them words to say. 

They grew to be large, healthy birds; 
Such handsome birds were they — 
Until my Babe of a broken leg 
Died upon a fatal day. 

But Bess kept growing, 
Getting stronger every day. 
She did a good deal of talking — 
Many things she learned to say. 

Then day by day her talking ceased 
And she could eat no more. 
One day she died of that terrible disease, 
Diphtheria, that we had not had before. 

I buried my beautiful Bess 

Down in the dark, cold ground, 

And if I ask it, you can guess, 

She was the most beautiful bird ever found. 

By Norvella Montana LeMay. 
Boulder, Montana, January 17, 1909. 
Jefferson, Seventh Grade; Age 13 years, 10 months. 
Mr. T. M. Sheehan, Teacher. 




AN extensive and delightful trip had been plan- 
ned for dear Montana, with mother, brother 
and father, that consumed over five months, to 
Helena, Butte and Great Falls as a preliminary 
starting, thence out to Portland, Tacoma, Van- 
couver, and again to Seattle, where some seven 
years prior, dearest Montana had enjoyed so won- 
derfully well that great Alaskan- Yukon Exposition, 
with the streets and grounds decorated with those 
weird Totem poles of the strange and interesting 
tribes of Igoroties, an Alaskan tribe of Indians, in 
their primitive mode of habitation. The large 
ferris wheel that went so high was the very same 
wheel that had given thrills to thousands at the 
Chicago World's Fair and had been moved to far 
away Seattle. On one of the great turns that tall 
wheel made, we were all right at the top, and ap- 
parently something was wrong. It remained sta- 
tionary for fully five minutes, to the great enjoy- 
ment of Montana, affording a magnificent view of 
the grounds, Puget Sound, and far-away beauty 

"We went on down into central Oregon and 
Nevada, riding two hundred miles on a narrow 
gauge railroad into that vast inland empire which 
still lies unclaimed by the hand of agriculture ; back 
to old Reno, that pretty little city of fame; on to 
Sacramento, where they give the tourist the glad 
hand and your money's worth; to San Francisco i 

and Los Angeles, being pleasantly entertained on 
board that large ship, Manchuria, in the harbor at \ 

San Francisco, by the captain, which was delight- 
fully interesting to Montana; Salt Lake and out to 


Salt Air Beach; to Ogden, riding and driving 
through beautiful gorges and mountains; on to 
Kansas City and St. Louis, and to our old Indiana 
home, where we got our breath long enough to 
freshen us for the last lap of our journey. 

Continuing down to Wheeling, West Virginia, 
after those long, long years, both young ladies of s 
seventeen now, Montana and Miss Mildred Pratt j 
met again. My, how they did size up each other j 
after the lapse of those many years, and such a j 
splendid visit did they have talking over early j 

school days and their days of fun and play ! 

Up at Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, Montana's 
father telephoned to a young man, Mr. Harry 
Schreck, that we were stopping at the hotel for a 
few days. "Why, yes; of course Miss Montana 
was with us," to an inquiry from Harry, who put 
in an early appearance, adding one more plate to 
our dinner table in that large, spacious dining 
room. Harry, knowing the city, showed us around 
in an entertaining way. 

We were up at old sleepy Baltimore for a couple 
of days. Not stopping at Philadelphia, we landed 
in beautiful Washington, D. C, where those New 
i England dinners were not up to the standard of 

our appetites, and Montana and her father fre- 
quently indulged in eating between meals. Mon- 
tana, mother and Eoger walked down those winding 
stairs of the Washington monument, some 520 feet, 
and they all laid off sight-seeing the following day 
to recuperate. The Government buildings and the 
Smithsonian Institute were highly instructive and 
interesting to all. On up to dear old New York, 
Fifth Avenue, Broadway, and Coney Island was as 
far as we got. We then went down into the sunny 
South through Virginia, the Carolinas and Georgia, 
to sunny Florida — Jacksonville, old Spanish St. 
Augustine, and to Miami, where we remained two 


months or more among the tropical vegetation and 
beautiful palms and the gorgeous scenery of Bay 

Eesuming our trip north, we stopped at our home 
town in Indiana. Dear Montana had much inter- 
esting conversation of her trip to tell her friends 
and relatives. Again traveling northward, upon 
arriving in St. Paul, Minnesota, we decided to make 
that city our home, which was ever after the home 
of dearest Montana, to her delight. St. Paul was 
glorious to her. She dearly loved those large de- 
partment stores and would wander through them 
for hours, admiring the many beautiful things on 
display. Shortly we built a palatial little home out 
near Phalen Park, which contained one of Minne- 
sota's charming lakes within its borders. During 
the summer months there were throngs of visitors, 
band music, bathing and boating; in the winter 
time, skating rinks, music and carnivals. This park 
was indeed a very fine one and was maintained ex- 
clusively as a family park, Montana spending many 
of her idle hours there for some years in our early 
residence there, but gradually being drawn away 
with more exciting things of life found down in the 
heart of the big city. 

Woven into the beautiful life of Montana was 
mystery, romance and happiness, as for Montana at 
eighteen, there was probably no more glorious dis- 
tractingly beautiful girl in the whole world. She 
was noble, grand and lovable. With her bright, 
cheerful face, she was loved by all who met her and 
her life was filled with an indescribable lavishness 
and happiness. With legions of friends and ad- 
mirers indulging in pleasant pastimes, theaters, 
movies, dancing and good eats at those big dinners 
she relished so well, and dressing in an elaborate 
fashion, were her profoundest dreams of pleasure 
and happiness. She obtained from life its fullest 
measure of enjoyment and happiness. 



Her mother never permitted Montana to do any 
house work, with the exception of little fanciful 
whims of hers in the decoration or arrangement of 
her room, or sometimes the drying of the dishes 
after a meal, but by no means was our dearest 
Montana an idle girl. She devoted her time in an 
extraordinarily useful manner in the making of 
fancy-work, drawings and paintings, in which she j 

was highly interested and accomplished. While not \ 

exactly musically inclined, she was the master of j 

the mandolin, playing very well and sweetly, and | 

much enjoyed by her listeners. 

Montana became a student of dramatic art, with 
great success, giving readings at many churches 
and other entertainments. Her splendid readings 
and personality endeared her to the audience. A 
play given by her dramatic art graduating class ' 

entitled, "Lucia's Lover,' ' out at Hazel Park, met 
with much favorable comment in the highly capable 
manner in which Montana played her part. Elab- 
orately gowned, those saucy curls went astray in 
golden ringlets over her fair forehead, presenting 
a living picture of beauty. Of her readings, I re- 
call that she gave in a masterly way, ' ' Fraidy-cat, ' ' 
"Columbus," "Wreck of the Hesperdes," "Curfew 
Shall Not Ring," and others. The magnetic in- 
fluence of stage life had enthralled her. She 
played one continuous season in Pittsburgh, Penn- 
sylvania, another season in Buffalo, New York, 
one season with a road show playing "The Girl of 
the Golden West," and one season as entertainer 
for Marcus Lowe Company. Frequently coming 
home for long vacations and rests, she Would be 
beseiged with letters and offers from many sources, 
which were moat always declined, as she was look- 
ing for something more thrilling, something out of 
the ordinary to satisfy that longing of her nature. 

March and April of 1923 Montana and her charm- 
ing little cousin from Newcastle, Indiana, were in 


Chicago together, and such gushing, romantic times 
as they did have together. Her cousin, dainty and 
pretty little Lillian Lindley, was about the same 
size of dear Montana, with bobbed chestnut hair, 
fair complexion, and laughing eyes. Lillian and 
Montana, dressing in cunning little sport suits and 
tailored suits of charming design, attracted much 
attention toward the table where they happened to 
be dining. Being fond of the movies and such 
places of amusement, they often ate at the Re- 
public, or as they had playfuly nick-named it, "the 
Janes, " on State street. There they could be 
served in a cleanly and appetizing manner those 
wonderful salads, which they both loved so well. 
Down in Chinatown those funny little noodles and 
side dishes of the Orient appealed to their appe- 
tites and curiosity. Wandering through those 
quaint shops and large department stores was won- 
derful to them and never to be forgotten. May 
God's kindest blessings forever be with Lillian for 
her faithful and loving devotion to our dearest 
Montana, and may the benevolent sunlight of the 
future change the falling tear drops of sorrow into 
shining pearls of gladness. It was Lillian who so 
wonderfully understood dear Montana, all of her 
little pet habits, traits of character, her love and 
adoration for people, and things of life she so 
readily comprehended. 

Montana had a host of girl friends in the city of 
St. Paul. Those remembered by me are Florence 
Bosky, Jeanette Larson, Myrtle Smallbach, Helen 
Aronson, Frances Hardwick, Eose Wyman, Mrs. 
Robert Anderson and Ethel Helmer. Time has 
effaced others from my memory. Amazing was the 
wonderful love and affection dearest Montana had 
stored up for those charming girl friends of hers, 
and her friendship was of the steadfast, sincere 
love that can only come from the fountain of youth, 
and loyalty of the type of this dearest of all girls, 


Montana, the winsome and dazzling girl of the 
golden west. 

Montana's ideal, the pinnacle of her excitement, 
had not yet been attained. One day when in a re- 
mote city playing an engagement, she learned of an 
attraction wanting a lady of diminutive size to 
make a parachute drop. Montana applied in per- 
son. A few verbal instructions, and in less than j 
ten minutes she was among the clouds, completing \ 
a spectacular and pretty drop which completely in- ( 
fatuated her with the thrill of floating to earth. \ 
She subsequently made other perfect drops over a 
period of six weeks, giving her the joys and thrills 
of life she had been longing for. 

Montana spent the entire summer of 1924 at her 
St. Paul home with her mother and Brother Roger, 
her father being absent in far away Florida. Such 
a delightful visit and good times did she have all 
that summer with mother and brother, out at those 
beautiful lakes, for which Minnesota is so famous; 
at the parks, theaters and movies, dinners and 
parties. Her mother and brother were with her 
most of the time. Never before had her dear 
mother been so pleasantly entertained by dear 
Montana. Their companionship seemed insepar- 
able. Her mother and brother passionately and 
imploringly had endeavored all that summer to 
dissuade darling Montana from again taking up 
that hazardous work of parachute dropping, which 
dear Montana held a contract for in the early fall 
months, which were fast approaching. " Just a few 
more times, dear mother," and " Brother, a few 
more thrills, then I will become tired of it," were 
her replies to them. From the distance, through 
correspondence, her father endeavored to persuade 
her to abandon the work, giving her valuable land 
holdings and city lots as a bribe, j^reliminary to the 
final appeal that would be made later on, as dear 

— 52— 

Montana was to visit her father in sunny Florida 
that winter. 

The autumn day was drawing to a close. The 
sun had set early, as though loth to pass into 
night. It was Montana's last night to spend with 
mother and brother in her St. Paul home. She was 
leaving the following morning for Denver and 
Pueblo, Colorado, and on down into the southland, 
where she would be with her father several long 
months, making those dangerous drops from para- 
chutes at important cities as she came on south- 
ward. That beautiful September day when she 
was departing from her ever welcome home, Mon- 
tana begged her mother to eat once more that appe- 
tizing dish of chop suey, and they lingered and ate 
heartily of what was to Montana the best of all 
dishes, Montana running merrily to catch the train 
in that magnificent new Union Depot. Entering 
that luxurious Pullman car, she gazed wonderingly 
and affectionately for the last time at her dear 
mother. With sadness in her heart for the absence 
of her only daughter, with that bitter pang, the 
feeling that something might happen to dearest 
Montana in that dangerous work, the mother's cup 
was filled to overflowing with the bitterness of life 
as she returned to her home. 

Montana had written from Pueblo, Kansas City, 
and Dallas, Texas, of the splendid times she was 
having, vividly describing in detail her drops, the 
success she was having, and ever on and on weav- 
ing a pretty romance around her youthful life of 
gaiety, pleasures and thrills, which was all so fas- 
cinating to her. On and on to the many pretty 
little cities through Texas she wandered, playing 
her engagements of thrills at the county fairs, 
bringing around her a gathering of beautiful chil- 
dren which she loved so dearly, and accepting 
pretty invitations from them, would accompany 
them to their homes, and was always royally enter- 

— 53 — 

tamed, much loved and admired by all with whom 
she came in contact. Many of the elderly people, 
particularly mothers, frequently went to her when 
she was about to make an ascension and tried to 
persuade her from going up, pointing out the dan- 
gers therein. She would only smilingly say, "My 

\ dear lady, there is positively no danger/ ' and ex- 

f plain how glorious the excitement was to her very 

\ soul of existence. 

| Down in that beautiful city of Houston, Texas, 

she enjoyed several days of sight-seeing, theaters 

{ and movies, prior to making her drops, which were 

scheduled for a later date out at that pretty Luna 
Park, among the many attractions, including the \ 

highest roller coaster in the United States, minia- j 
ture railroads, and every known entertainment for { 
the young and the old. I 

It would not be long now, Montana would enter- | 

tainingly write to her dear mother away up in St. i 

Paul. She was a splendid correspondent and her I 
letters were always beaming over with interesting I 
events and happenings, describing them so vividly j 
and clearly in her own imaginative manner. "It J 
won't be long now, dear mama," she would say; j 
and the happy days for her passed in pleasant J 
romance of her young life. j 

54 — 


MONTANA was a fluent and entertaining con- 
versationalist. She had that splendid idea of 
knowing how to dress in a charming and becoming 
manner and possessed that rare ability of applying 
rouge and powder without overdoing. 

Any discarded clothing always went to someone 
who had admired a particular garment and she had 
a rare trait of giving it to them without offense. 
Making them feel so happy in receiving the gift 
was her delight. 

She was particularly fond of planked white fish, 
chop suey, salads and all fancy dishes. She never 
ate butter, and no food that to her knowledge con- 
tained butter. A great lover of olive oil, she used 
this generously instead of butter. Montana had 
the best appetite of any person I ever knew and 
ordered her eats regardless of the cost. 

Possessed of a fearless, courageous disposition, 

at the Indianapolis speedway at the auto races, she 

would lean away forward in her seat to bring her 

closer to those speeding demons in their racing 

cars. At circuses, among the wild animals, she 

would touch them unafraid, even touching those 

creeping, crawling snakes; yet on our own velvety 

| lawn, if by chance she should spy a tiny grass- 

| hopper, she would scream with fright. She was a 

j true lover of birds, animals, and beautiful things of 

life. Especially were the dogs and cats her dear 

friends. Never did she pass up a stray dog or cat 

| without giving them her attention, and many times 

she solicited the aid of others and found them food 

and a home. ( 

Montana never cared for a real small baby, but 

55 — 


after they reached the age of three or four years 
she dearly loved them, and was indeed a great 
favorite with all children. In my vision and my 
fancy, I can now see little tots out in the yard 
or sitting on our porch steps calling, "Oh, ho, 
Monty,' ' and waiting for her to come down stairs 
or out into the yard with them. 

She spent all the money she could get hold of 
for garments, nick-knacks and things that she 
really did not need, only because it was something 
slightly different. A shrewd buyer of merchan- 
dise, she was very seldom stung in her purchases. 
At other times she appeared to reflect more in her 
purchases, often consuming days or weeks in think- 
ing over a purchase of a particular thing, looking 
at it every day at the store in the meantime, and 
deliberating in her own mind. 

The movies were Montana's greatest enjoyment 
and pleasure of life. She loved the bright lights, 
the gay sound of the music, the glitter and glamor 
of the stage. Montana was acquainted with many 
of the stars of the speaking stage and the movie 
screen, through personal contact and correspon- 
dence. She could entertainingly talk for days, dis- 
cussing the merits of a play or a screen picture. 
In those halcyon days of Mary Pickford, she was 
our dearest Montana's favorite screen artist, and 
Montana had some pretty little letters from the 
dear Mary of her fancies. 

Dearest Montana lived the Golden Eule of life — 
chivalrous, winsome, gentle, kind, and loving; re- 
tained her friends, yet possessed a diplomatic air 
that held her aloof from intimacy. She had scat- 
tered seeds of kindness for her reaping by and by. 
She possessed that splendid, cheerful aptitude of 
adapting herself to any circumstances or sur- 

She courted notoriety ; the more glaring the head- 
lines, the better they were to her liking. She re- 


tained all of her write-ups and frequently would be 
found turning the pages of that mammoth scrap 
book eagerly and passionately, with fond memories, 
reading of the days gone by. 

Montana's favorite flowers were the princess 
feather, aster, blue bell, and marigold. 

Dearest Montana was highly interested in photo- 
graphs and photography, frequently having her pic- 
ture made. While in Pittsburgh she had taken 
lessons in tinting and retouching of photographs, 
and could wonderfully and skillfully bring out ex- 
pressions in a picture that made them appear 

She immensely enjoyed carnival concessions. 
Side shows were her hobby, and she would well 
know there were many fakes mixed into their dish- 
ing up, yet from one to the other, she endeavored 
to see them all. She always had sympathy and 
great regard for the vendors and the speilers, 
always bestowing upon them a glad smile or a 
cheerful word, that perhaps sank into their hearts, 
causing them to think of home, their own dear 
mother and sisters. At fairs and places of multi- 
tudes of people she was thrilled with excitement. 
Enjoying all there was to be seen and mingling 
with the crowds brought her happiness. 
| Slumming trips with a gentleman companion 

found her wandering through those districts, talk- 
ing childish talk to those little urchins she discov- 
ered, frequently discovering some particular home 
or child that she took an extraordinary liking to, 
and later returning with something of consequence 
for the little child. Admonishing their mothers in 
that pleasant way of hers as to the care of some of 
the little tots in their dress, their hair, faces and 
clothing, brought marked improvement in many 

Christmas and birthdays were sacred to dear 
Montana. She considered it an unpardonable of- 

— 57 — 

fense not to give remembrances to her family and 
to her closest friends, and she generously gave as 
far as her meager purse permitted. 

On her trips she carried innumerable articles for 
her enjoyment. For instance, she had a large black 
leather cat that looked as real as a living cat. 
Montana would stand it on her wardrobe trunk and 
talk to it as though it were alive. 

Songs that dearest Montana loved and would sing 
and hum were, "When the Sheep are in the Fold," 
"Cheyenne," "Sometime, Somewhere," "Love's 
Golden Dream," and "Red Wing." 

She held very high ideals of life and humanity 
and was always courteous, kind and true to others 
in all walks of life. A noble trait of this sunshine 
girl of the golden west was that she always had a j 
\ good word for everybody. ( 

From the pretty little city of Houston, Texas, on \ 
October 18, 1924, she again wrote to her dearest of | 
all mothers, "It won't be long now." Smiling \ 
coquettishly from beneath her golden bobbed hair, \ 

"Tomorrow, Sunday the 19th, I make an ascension \ 
and drop." She smiled expectantly of the thrill 
she again longed for, which to her meant so much; 
the very food of life to her dear little starved soul 
for excitement. "It won't be long now, dear 
mama, ' ' she wrote, and mailed the letter which sped 
on its journey to far away St. Paul, Minnesota. 



ON that fair October Sabbath evening the sun 
shown brightly over the hilltops of the little 
city of Houston, that held within its gates a pre- 
cious life, our only daughter, our darling Montana, 
child of our fondest dreams. The church bells of 
all creeds pealed forth their individual invitations 
to God's house of worship. " Jesus is waiting and 
calling for you ; oh, why will you die 1 ' ' was pealed 
far over the hills and into the valleys. Could dear- 
est Montana have looked into the crystal ball of 
fate and reckoned the nearness the pealing of those 
bells brought her face to face with the death angel 
of God; could she have recalled " Creed of the 
Bells,' ' written in her book of poems at her youth- 
ful age of thirteen, would she not have been justi- 
fied in disappointing that crowd of merry-makers 
gathered at Luna Park in the evening of her life to 
witness her daring feat of dropping out of a 
Balloon more than 2,000 feet from the sky? In her 
heart the words, " Creed of the Bells," on her 
honor and truthfulness, to her were the promises to 
her friends that she would not disappoint them in 
her last thrill, in the glories and the ecstasy she 
experienced in floating from dizzy heights to earth, 
as on the wings of a fairy. 

Two of the parachutes furnished her were old, 
defective, broken, and tied together. Her first 
parachute carried her to within eighteen hundred 
feet of the earth, when she discarded it, depending 
on the other two, and again she was true to her 
friends and to her promises, endeavoring to make 
three distinct drops. Again, softly pealing in 
musical tones of sweetness, wafted o'er the valley 


the distant sounds of a church bell, " Jesus is call- 
ing, calling for you; oh, why will you die?" Into 
the stillness, the quietness of the evening of her 
life, standing near, was an angel of Heaven. The 
settings of the stage in Heaven, at the throne of 
God, with curtain raised, was that invisible audi- 
ence of God's angels waiting, tenderly waiting for 
the curtain of earthly life forever and forever to be \ 
rung down on ' ' Monty, ' ' the loving, darling child of I 
the golden west. The two remaining parachutes J 
did not open. Her dear, precious life was given 
back to God, her creator, on her honor of truth- 

"Creed of the bells, oh ring again," 

A chorus of God's angels sang. 

"The sweetest daughter from earth is given 

An angel's crown with God in Heaven." 

In a nearby sandy field her little body lie beneath 
the gaudy-colored silken parachutes that failed her. 
Her spirit life had entered into the heavens of God, 
her maker. In that stillness and silence of the mul- 
titudes of merry-makers, her darling body was lov- 
ingly and tenderly taken away from the scene of 
the tragedy of her young life. Through the distant 
woodland there floated the soft sound of a silvery 
bell, in accents sweet, to bear her spirit soul to God, 
her redeemer. 

"Nearer my God to Thee, nearer to Thee," pealed 

the bell, 
A sweet story of this precious loved one to tell. 
"Creed of the bells, in coming years 
Peal soft, soft music to our ears. 
Memories of Montana on honor bright 
That gave her life to do the right. 
Creed of the bells, thy music swell, 
The love of darling Montana tell. 
With Jesus, her Savior, we bid farewell, farewell." 


(From Dearest Montana's Book of Poems) 

How sweet the chimes of the Sabbath bell! 

Each one its creed in music tells, 

In tones that float upon the air 

As soft as song and as pure as prayer. 

And I will put in simple rhyme 

The language of the golden chime. 

My happy heart with rapture swells, 

Responsive to the bells, sweet bells. 

"In deeds of love, excel, excel," 
Chimed out from ived towers, a bell; 
"This is the church, not built on sands, 
Emblem of one not built with hands; 
Its forms and sacred rites revere, 
Come worship here, come worship here; 
In ritual and faith, excel," 
Chimed out the Episcopalian bell. 

"Oh, heed the ancient land marks well," 
In solemn tones, explained a bell; 
"No progress made by mortal man 
Can change the just eternal plan. 
Do not invoke the avenging rod; 
Come here and learn the way to God; 
Say to the world, 'Farewell, farewell/ " 
Pealed out the Presbyterian bell. 

"Oh, swell, ye cleansing waters, swell," 
In mellow tones rang out a bell; 
"Through faith only in Christ can save; 
Man must be plunged beneath the wave 
To show the world unfaltering faith 
In what the sacred Scripture saith; 
Oh, swell, ye rising waters, swell," 
Pealed out the clear-toned Baptist bell. 

"Not faith alone, but work as well, 
Must test the soul," said a soft bell. 
"Come here and cast aside your load 
With faith in God, and faith in man, 
And hope in Christ, where hopes began. 
Do well, do well, do well, do well," 
Pealed forth the Unitarian bell. 

— 61 — 

"In after life there is no hell," 
In rapture sang a cheerful bell; 
"Look up to Heaven this holy day 
Where angels wait to lead the way. 
There are no fires, no fiends to blight 
The future life; be just and right; 
No hell, no hell, no hell, no hell," 
Rang out the Universalist bell. 

"To all the truth we tell, we tell," 
Shouted in ecstasies, a bell. 
"Come, all ye weary wanderers, see — 
Our Lord has made salvation free. 
Repent, believe, have faith, and then 
Be saved, and praise the Lord, amen. 
Salvation's free, we tell, we tell," 
Shouted the Methodistic bell. 

The body of our precious Montana was sent to 
her Grandma Walker at Charlottesville, Indiana, 
where burial took place in beautiful Glencove ceme- 
tery at Knightstown, Indiana, among friends, rela- 
tives and acquaintances of the girlhood days of my 
wife, Ellis, and of my own boyhood days. Beauti- 
ful expressions of love, sympathy and kindness 
were extended by those sorrowful friends and rela- 
tives through charming floral designs that were 
strewn in the pathway to her everlasting resting 

Darling Montana, once again, in my fancy, I hold 
you in my arms and press my lips to your sweet 
face, and God be with you till we meet again. 

You may break, you may shatter 
The vase, if you will, 
But the scent of the roses 
Will linger still. 

To Jesus, the savior of the world; the Lord, our 
redeemer; friends, neighbors, and relatives: I come 
to Thee today in a spirit of rejoicing; not in the 
narrow sense, but in the broader sense of God's 
wisdom, His teachings, His love, and tender mer- 


K— .* 

cies. He has spoken the words, "Come unto me, 
all ye little children, and I will give you life." 
What a beautiful thought — "Come unto me and I 
will give you life." 

Our individualities are of God's own handiwork, 
of His liking, and creation. Individual fancies, 
wrongdoings and happiness are transmitted to the 
mind, the soul and body through His mysterious 
power. We on earth are individuals of our own 
destiny. The blessings of the Lord strengthen us 
in our own individualities. 

We rejoice in the thought that this beautiful 
life, so suddenly called away to God, her creator, 
is assured of her peace and happiness in God's 
kingdom. Her beautiful life, her kindness, her 
cheerfulness and good will were radiated through 
her countenance of love and expression, beaming 
ever radiantly beautiful from her cheerful face, 
pure as the azure skies of the heavens above. Her 
devotion to the little children, for whom she always 
had a glad smile of welcome, a word of cheer, which 
was imbedded in their hearts and souls, kindled a 
fire of love within them for this dear girl of tragedy. 
| Her love and kindness did not stop at her regard 

| and sympathies for human beings. Nay, it was 

transferred and extended to the lowly dumb ani- 
mals of life. Her affection, her tenderness for 
some poor unfortunate dog or cat will honor her 
memory forever and forever. It was not uncom- 
mon, and frequently happened, that in journeying 
through the congested districts of our large cities, 
she would come upon some poor little kitten, being 
trampled upon, kicked and cuffed by the multitudes 
of pedestrians. She of the noble and higher ideals j 
of life, no matter what her engagement was, or who j 

i her companion, would stop, tenderly pick up the 

i little creature of misfortune, and find it food and 

; shelter. 


i — 63 — 

Words of tongue or pen are inadequate to por- 
tray the high ideals and the loving character of this 
darling girl. Her memory will bring forth retro- 
spective pictures in commemoration of the many 
pleasant occasions enjoyed with her, by her friends, 
acquaintances and family. 

Norvella Montana LeMay, the girl of mystery, 
this daughter of destiny, was born at Cinnabar, 
Montana, entrance to Yellowstone National Park, 
in the year 1895, month of March, the twelfth day, 
and died at the city of Houston, state of Texas, in 
the year 1924, month of October, the nineteenth 

In attempting a parachute drop at an altitude of 
more than 2,000 feet at Luna Park, Houston, Texas, 
to thrill, to satisfy the morbid, uncanny crowd of 
spectators that are ever longing for the spec- 
tacular, her precious life was sacrificed in their 
entertainment. God forbid the same fate is ever 
meted out to another's fair daughter. Vivacious, 
courageous and fearless, possessed of a pleasing 
personality, instantly won for her the friendship 
and admiration of those she met. True to her God, 
true to her friends, and to her word, she en- 
deavored to fulfill her promise of making three 
I distinct drops with three parachutes strapped to 

her belt. At a dizzy height of over 2,000 feet she 
cut loose from a 75-foot balloon. Now, her life was 
depending on those three parachutes. She dropped 
as a rocket several hundred feet, when the first 
parachute opened, slowly checking her fall, by 
which she could have safely floated to the ground. 
But the world of today demanded something more 
daring — another sacrifice of a life. She was to cut 
loose from the first parachute, open the second, 
again cut loose and open the third, in which she 
was to drift to the ground. Instantly she sensed 
death and danger in that second parachute, and 
cut the string which would open the third and last 


parachute. Something was wrong with it also; it 
never opened; the earth seemed to rise up to meet 
her. Her dear little body struck the ground in a 
sandy field about three blocks away from the giddy 
throngs of merry-makers in the park. 

The music ceased. The continued barking of the 
speilers, the jazz orchestra, the roller coaster and 
scenic railway all seemed to stop, for death was in 
their wake — another life sacrificed. This dear girl 
had given her life for their pleasures. It was only 
for a moment. "Ah, ah, ah," ran the murmur 
through the deceitful and mocking crowd, "she's 
dead. On with the music, on with the dance ; let joy 
be unconf ined. ' ' 

Dear reader, if they could have been a silent wit- 
ness to the poor little mother, far remote from the 
scene of the tragedy, the recipient of a telegram 
conveying the sad news — to have witnessed her 
grief, her sorrow and anguish — perchance their 
hearts may have softened and a tear bedimmed 
the eye. 

Could there have been a farmer's kindly haystack 
to have protected her dear little body from the 
hard earth below, she may have lived to have pro- 
claimed to the world the folly of the class of enter- 
tainment demanded today, and may God teach the 
world it shall not be again. 

Her dear little body, covered with the gaily- 
silken parachutes that had denied her, was tenderly 
placed in an unknown automobile, but she had died ; 
the spirit of a winsome life had departed this earth. 

God, in his infinite wisdom and love, lifted the 
veil and showed me her fall in a vision of a dream, 
and in some mysterious, divine manner I was lifted 
heavenward. When she fell by me, the swish of 
the wind was so violent that I awoke while reaching 
out to protect her. 

So faithfully, persistently and courageously did 
she endeavor to save her life for mother, brother, 

— 65 

friends and relatives. She has planted a monu- 
ment of roses in the garden of love that time can 
never, never efface. We on earth honor and 
cherish her memory. We submit to God, ' ' Thy will 
be done." 

She went forth in life's fair morning, 
She went forth in the bloom of youth, 
And plucked for her adorning 
The precious pearls of truth. 


Almighty God in the highest, we come to Thee in 
this sad hour of bereavement and seek Thy comfort 
and Thy blessings. 

We do pray, oh Lord, Thy comfort and tender 
mercies for the poor broken-hearted mother; sus- 
tain her in her grief for her departed daughter, 
Montana; guide her in the knowledge of Thy love, 
that she now has a treasure laid up in Heaven; 
bless her with Thy wondrous love. 

Dear God, comfort the brother, Roger; lead him 
in a life of righteousness and devotion to his only 
and darling sister, Montana. 

God, I pray you that the life of the father of this 
noble daughter shall be sacredly devoted to her | 
love and memory and to the higher ideals of hu- \ 

manity and life. j 

That you will tenderly care for the spirit soul 
and body of this dear beloved daughter and sister, 
so tragically taken away from us. 

Dear God, may our lives all be devoted in sacred 
worship and preparedness to fit ourselves to join 
the departed — this beautiful angel child — in Thy 
realms of glory. Amen. 


Montana, thou hast gone far, far on high; 
God has called you home, no more to die. 

Sweetest angel child, in Heaven above, 
With God your savior, where all is love, 
Our grief, our sorrow on earth below 
Is comforted in the thought we know, 
That your spirit soul is white as snow. 

God called you home in your young life, 

Took you from the troubles of earthly strife, 

Has crowned you an angel of delight. 

In memory of you I kneel at my bedside each night. 

My heart is broken, my loneliness is great — 

That I, you'll soon meet at the wide pearly gate. 

The dear friends you left on earth mourn for you — 

They were numbered by the thousands — they were not few — 

They loved you dearly, and your sweet, childish patter, 

Your rougish smile and silvery laughter, 

And your memory will ever be sacred in the hereafter. 

You thrilled the crowds in many ways; 

You flirted with death in your youthful days. 

Your parents' warning was sent to you — 

We tried to prevent what we certainly knew, 

That a tragic death would happen to you; 

But dearest daughter, your faith was true 

In the three tangled parachutes that failed on you. 

In pretty Glencove cemetery your dear body was laid to rest; 
Your funeral was preached by the minister you loved best. 
And the sun will forever and forever shine over your grave, 
j For your peace and happiness with God you made. 

Fragrant flowers will ever bloom over you. 
Your message of love to friends I will strew. 

) Although not present, I witnessed your death; 

j You were a heroine; you bravely tried to save yourself. 

God sent me a vision of you in a dream, 
And you, darling Montana, your fall I plainly seen. 
You desperately was trying to untangle the ropes, 
The parachutes beyond your reach, with which you could 

not cope. 
In those few moments of your life you lived through it all — 
You made peace with your God; messages to me you gave 
as you did fall. 

— 67 

You sent mother, brother and me messages of love in that 

rapid flight. 
God showed me your picture in Heaven again the next night, 
An angel in Heaven, with God at your right. 

May our lives be sacredly devoted in memory and love 
To our dearest sweet child that we all fondly loved, 
And may God prepare us in righteousness 
To meet our darling Montana in Heaven above. 



Beloved and Darling Daughter 

of Late and Ellis LeMay. 

Sister of Roger LeMay. 

Born at Cinnabar, Montana, 
March 12th, 1895. 

Died at Houston, Texas, 
October 19th, 1924. 

Age 29 years, 7 months, 
7 days. 

Sweet be thy sleep, oh darling child. 
The fairest of angels with God abide. 
Your life's golden days from earth 

they have flown; 
Your sweet spirit soul has entered 

unto God's sacred throne. 
With your precious young life you 

have atoned 
To Jesus, your savior, for your 

heavenly home. 



LAST night I had a dream, oh so beautiful, grand 
and sweet. The doors of Heaven were opened 
to me, just as the curtain of an elaborate stage, 
slowly, slowly rising, revealing the interior of a 
glorious, gorgeous and magnificent room of gold 
with golden subdued light. Beautiful woven and 
handsome tapestries and laces of gold were draped 
and hung in beauteous effects — a revelation of 
grandness indescribable, with a bed of gold of 
magnificence and grandeur. Lying on that exquisite 
bed of gold, in that large commodious room, was 
our darling Montana with her beautiful face and 
golden hair softly entwining, showing her sweet 
face purer and more sacred than when on earth. 
She was ill from the fall to earth on that fatal day, 
her poor little body almost convalescent from those 
bruises, hurts and pains that she endured in strik- 
ing the hard earth. Her entire life on earth was 
revealed to me. Just as a mist would disappear 
under the bright sunshine from Heaven, all of the 
vague remembrances of time, places, happenings 
and occurrences disappeared from me, and the 
revelations of her life opened to me as the broad 
expanse of an unlimited range of vision. 

This remarkable occurrence of the mysteries of 
God occurred to me at about four o'clock on the 
morning of April 17, 1925. I had prayed fervently 
to God and to dearest Montana, upon retiring, 
asking that an inspiration from Heaven be sent me 
in the writing of the book of the memories of dear 
Montana, of her young life on this glorious and 
beautiful earth. I did not sleep any more, but re- 

fleeted over the marvelous things of her life that 
were brought back so vividly to my memory of long 
years gone by. The faces, the pictures of places 
and things, were as plain as life. Names of people, 
places and things were revealed to me that I had 
completely forgotten and were lost to my memory 
of those long ago days. Surely and certainly were 
my prayers answered by God and dear Montana. 

I believe fully and sincerely that in our suffer- 
ings and ailments of life that in Heaven one is not 
immediately made whole, or well, but that they 
undergo a period of convalescence. 

Whatever you have admired and construed as 
of the beautiful of this earth can not compare with j 

the sublimity of grandeur that I beheld in that j 

golden room of Heaven, where was our dearest I 

darling Montana. j 

Dear reader, may the inspiration of this prayer 
and the results obtained be an object lesson of the 
wonders of God and of Heaven. 


Late LeMay. 
Palmdale, Florida, 
April 17, 1925. 


A tiny picture of Montana centered below 
With picturesque colors of golden glow; 
And reflections of her golden hair, 
Color of her dear eyes are shown in there. 
Treasure state, Montana, the place of her birth, 
Land of romance, valleys and rills, 
Towering mountains, lakes and hills. 
This dear picture I have treasured for years, 
Now mingled with countless sighs and tears, 
I am sending you for a little keepsake 
In loving memory of dearest Montana and her 
birth state. 

Late LeMay, 
Palmdale, Florida, 
March 14th, 1925. 
To Mrs. Late LeMay, 
Saint Paul, Minnesota. 

The original, sent to Mrs. 
LeMay, contained in this 
space a tiny picture of the 
state of Montana with beau- 
tiful colors of golden sunset 
reflecting against the tower- 
ing mountains, lakes and 
rivers, ever reminding one 
of our dearest Montana's 
golden curls. 

71 — 

March twelfth, the date of your birth, in those halcyon days, 
A blizzard was raging; we had no advantage of the city ways. 
The snow drifted in through the roof and the cracks of our 

old shack, 
Covered the floor and the bed and the old flour sack. 
The stove was red hot; there was love in our hearts, and 

nothing to lack. 

Birthdays — one, two, three — and the dearest child that ever 

could be; 
You were our joy, our pride, and your winning ways appealed 

to me. 
Books, games, dolls, teddy bears, all by the score; 
Anything else you had of wished, we would have given you 

Dearest child, could we then have known the fate for you 

in store, 
Could it have been prevented; could we have done more? 

Other birthdays for you would come and go 

And each succeeding year you grew more charming, and so, 

Until a young lady, our pride and our delight. 

Many, many a prayer we said for you every night, 

Until God, on that fatal day, took you far away, 

Far, far remote from the place of your first birthday. 



Away out in dear old Montana, far, far away, 

It was there our precious darling first saw the light of day. 

Beneath the snow-capped mountains, under blue and fleecy 

An angel gave you to us, and there you first opened your 

You were the dearest girl baby out in the far golden west; ( 

All of our neighbors endeavored to love you the very best. | 

Your dear little mother watched over you with tender care 

and delight, 
And tucked you up cozy and warm in your bed each and 

every night. 
You grew to be a large baby with golden ringlets all over 

your head; 
Soon began to talk. "What's that?" were the first words 

that you said. 
You had a sweet disposition, always smiling, happy and gay; 
Looked wonderfully cunning as in the arms of your mother 

you lay. 

Backward, turn backward, O time, in thy flight; 

Give us our darling child again, just for tonight. 

Bring her to her dear mother, that she may caress her 

golden head 
And live over again the days of yore and tuck her tenderly 

in her bed. 
That she may kneel gently by her bedside, in rapturous love 

and delight, 
And whisper softly, "Darling Montana, you are only my child 

again, just for tonight." 

"Mother, dear mother, hold my tiny cold hands and my feet; 
Come sit close beside me and I'll soon be fast, fast asleep. 
Just as you did in days that have long, long gone by. 
Mother, dearest mother, I am happy to be with you; now, 

don't cry. 
Hold me in your arms, press your warm lips to my cold, 

cold brow; 
Nestle me up close to your dear face and head; oh, mother, 

I am warm and happy now." 

Today is your birthday; dearest Montana, we are sad — 
You are with the angel that gave you to us in God's happy 

Your dearest mother, brother and me — we grieve today — 
With loving memory and kindness, wishing you a happy 


— 73 


Have you ever felt the heartaches, have you ever endured 

the pain, 
When the sad, sad thoughts steal over you, that you never, 

never shall see your darling child again? 
Oh, the lonely, bitter anguish, the sad feeling sinks my spirits 

to the fathomless sea, 
Thrusts my heartstrings to repelling that come stealing 

over me. 
Bravely have I tried to withstand it — tried to conquer over 

our loss — 
Lie awake nights and think of her, as upon my pillow I 

would toss. 
In my dreams I see that long procession slowly wending its 

silent way, 
Onward, onward, to the cemetery, where our dearest child 

will lay. 
Mother, brother, friends and relatives — they have left her in 

the cold, cold ground — 
Lovely and beautiful flowers in her memory on her grave, 

and strewn around. 
She comes to me at my bedside, and at night she comes to me 

in my dreams, 
And many of her framed pictures — plainly, all of them can 

be seen. 
Her dear eyes, they follow me from the pictures that hang 

on the wall, 
In that imploring and pleading way — just as she looked in 

her fatal fall that sad October day. 
The circle in our home now is broken; our darling, darling 

Montana has been called away; 
May mother, brother and father live Christian lives, that we 

will meet her on that beautiful resurrection day. 

— 74 — 


Mama, dear mama, please take good care of my friends, the 

poor dogs and the cats. 
Let them come into the house and take them up into your lap. 
Give them a dish of warm milk that's real nice and sweet, 
Let them lie at the fireplace and purr themselves fast asleep, 
Just where I used to hold Billiken and smooth the soft fur 

on his large head. 
Don't put them out in the cold, but in a corner; make them 

a warm, warm bed. 
Do you remember all the beautiful cats that I loved so well — 
Fluffy Ruffles, Baby, Ginger, Billiken, and dear little Blue 

The dear alley cats are not nearly so pretty, 'tis true, 
But mama, dearest mama, you'll be kind to every one of 

them, won't you? 
All of the dear dogs and cats, if they could talk, have a 

story to tell, 
Which shines through their eyes that they love you so well. 
Our dearest and pretty little dog, Hubby, for Roger, that my 

dear papa bought, 
Was the dearest, dearest little dog, and I loved him a lot. 
And, dear mama, my darling, darling dolls, Eva Lyle and 

Louise, must never be forgot. 
Keep their hair combed pretty, dressed up all stylish, beau- 
tiful and gay. 
And, dear mama, always keep them in memory of your loving 

daughter, Montana LeMay. 
All the dear birds that hop and sit around among the trees, 
In winter, when the ground is all covered with ice and snow, 

rake them up large bunches of dry, golden leaves, 
That they may play in them and not freeze their tiny, tiny 

little feet. 
Give them plenty of all good things to eat, and they will 

thank you with their little voice, "Tweet." 

— 76 — 

Worldly attractions had separated dear Mon- 
tana from me considerably for the last few years, 
not intentionally on her part, but the lure of excite- 
ment, places, and the brighter lights of life to her 
young romantic nature held always an open date. 
Coming home from my work I would find her 
dressing to leave for down town or just leaving the 
house. A smile of welcome, a hello, and she had 
vanished among the gold and the glitter, as the 
jeweling electric lights sprang out against the 
skyline in the big city. Returning to my work 
again in the morning before she had awoke from 
her dreams of her life 's happiness, days, weeks and 
years my heart yearned for her companionship 
that I so craved, and of which I could not deny 
her what to her was so dear and the subsistence of 
life to her in the longing enjoyments and pastimes 
she so loved. 

I had wandered into a picturesque place in the 
tropics and made a little bungalow home in Florida, 
nestled in among tropical vegetation surrounded 
by birds and animals of life for my companions. 
In anticipation of Montana's visit, I had made and 
still contemplated many things to appeal to her 
nature to add to the romance, the charm of her 
visit that she was to make. The expectancy of a 
few weeks thrilled my soul with happiness. Mon- 
tana was to come and stay two or three months, 
perhaps longer, depending on my hospitality and 
the entertainment I could furnish her extravagant 
nature to hold her with me. I had planned, I had 
studied her fancies, I had even solicited the aid of 
others in her pleasures to make her have a delight- 
ful time. I had gleaned an opportunity that I had 
so long cherished and hoped for, of actually be- 
coming really acquainted with my daughter. I had 
planned in the little home all sorts of conveniences 
for her entertainment and pleasure and her happi- 
ness. I had anticipated in those two or three 

— 76 — 


months to successfully accomplish the real impor- 
tance of her visit — of persuading her to abandon 
that hazardous work of parachute dropping. I was 
prepared to bribe her, to give her my all, if neces- 
sary, to quit that dangerous work. I had so many, 
many opportunities planned for her that I feel 
certain that I would have won out in my persuasion 
and that she would have given up that employment 
forever. Alas, the death angel claimed dearest 
Montana, my only little girl, before she reached me. 

Situated in a wilderness of tropical vegetation 
one-half mile from anyone, in a jungle, alone, with 
no outside communication except radios, on Octo- 
ber 17 a tropical storm swept over all south Florida 
in its fury, with torrents of rain and strong winds. 
Incessantly it rained four days and nights. All 
around me was lakes and rivers of water. My land 
and house standing high out of the water, there 
came to my yard and to my house the native ani- 
mals — cows, sheep, goats, pigs, turkeys, and birds 
of many descriptions, sitting on the porches and 
under the eaves of the house for protection, re- 
minding me of the days of Noah and the ark. At 
the beginning of the storm I had a dream of Mon- 
tana falling and could plainly see her desperate 
efforts to untangle the parachutes. So accurate 
was every movement of her dear hands to help 
herself from that fatal fall, that to me, her not 
being saved, adds to my bitterness, my sorrows, 
and my anguish, grief that seems unbearable. 

Nearer and nearer, dearest Montana was coming 
closer and closer to me. She was at Pueblo and 
Kansas City, coming on down to Dallas and across 
that little neck of land that would bring her into 
Florida and to me. Oh, those glorious days for me 
were counted by the moments until she would be 
here. I wondered and hoped that she would be in 
every auto that came my way. On October 20, the 
rain pouring down, there came a nigger wading 

— 77 — 

water to his neck. I knew the worst; I scented 
what that telegram contained — a tragedy — my only 
and dearest daughter had lost her life. Alone in 
my grief and anguish, no one to comfort me, I only 
had the presence of mind to ask the nigger to come 
again the following day for telegrams, through 
which I learned of the funeral arrangements, and 
in my isolated place I observed and took a part in 
the last sacred rights to the memory of my dear 
child away down in Florida, while her funeral was 
held among her friends in an Indiana town. 


My heart with rapture swells 
As the pages in this little book it tells 
Of your beautiful life and deeds of love 
To faithful friends and God above. 

— 78 


Oh, why should we live far, far apart, 

You and I, my old sweet, sweetheart? 

Though memory of years may have grown old, 

The fast, fast fleeting days would unfold 

The moments of today, full of sorrow, 

Change into the gladness of tomorrow 

As mornings refreshed with the scented dew; 

Today I think of a loved one, and you, only you. 

Heaven and earth holds nothing to me so dear 

As that loved one and you, only you, when near. 

In the gloaming of our years 

Sad, sad memories fill our eyes with tears, 

And the rugged mountain, high on high, 

To our savior and loved one we draw nigh. 

Chance you know a lonely one, give a helping hand; 

A word may brighten their pathway to a better land. 

Little deeds of kindness and words of love 

Will give you happiness and a home with God above. 

Enter ye unto your heavenly home — 

Your life's work on earth was well done. 

Heaven and earth holds nothing to me so dear 

As that loved one, and you, only you, when near. 

'Tis a sweet consolation for you to know 

God's loving promises as through this world you go. 

Whatever should happen for weal or for woe, 

You reach the end of life's journey whiter than snow, 

To meet your darling loved one that's gone on before, 

Who's watching and waiting on that golden shore, 

Where sorrow or unhappiness shall come again no more. 

Angels are singing with harps in their hands. 

In Heaven, forever in that happy land 

Will you be a musician in God's sacred band. 

Heaven and earth holds nothing to me so dear 

As that loved one and you, only you, when near. 

Late LeMay. 
Palmdale, Florida. 
Glades County. 

(Dedicated to the memories of my wife, Ellis, and 
my departed daughter, Montana.) 


In beautiful Glencove cemetery, many, many miles 

away — 
Loved ones at the grave of darling Montana LeMay — 
Tributes of departing in her memory of today. 
Lovely and pretty flowers strewn over her this 

Decoration Day; 
Beautiful, beautiful flowers on the grave where her 

little body lies. 
Sweet memories of her winsome face wreathed in 

Sorrows in their hearts mingled with tears and sighs. 
Dearest, darling Montana, now in yonder skies, 
Watching, watching, waiting, as our earthly day 

draws nigh, 
Pleading, pleading to you, her sweet, sweet angel 

voice cries, 
"Make haste and be ready before another sunrise. 
Prepare now for eternity ere your body dies." 
Love, happiness and friendship shining through her 

Beautiful Isle of Somewhere, your spirit soul never, 

never dies. 
To all ye weary wanderers this little message applies. 

Late LeMay. 

Palmdale, Florida, 

May 30, 1925. 



As the deep blue of Heaven brightens 
into brilliancy of stars, may the benevolent 
sunlight of the future change the falling 
teardrops of sorrow into shining pearls of 
gladness, through God's love and promises 
given unto you, through His loving angel 
child, ours and yours, darling Montana. 

Late LeMay. 

Palmdale, Florida, 

Sunday, June 7, 1925. 

81 — 



LIKE a petal of a sweet flower, the fragrance of 
her memory shall be the illuminating and guid- 
ing star of my life. Unto eternity shall the softness 
of her dear voice echo in musical sweetness into the 
soul of my existence. 

A ringlet, a curl from her hallowed head — my 

Her faithfulness, kindness and devotion shall I 
proclaim to the world aloud. 

On the lofty pinnacles and crest of those towering 
mountains that she loved in her childish glee, shall 
be carved her name in sacred memory, that the 
memory of this golden sunshine girl be an inspira- 
tion of the more noble and higher ideals of life and 

To God, her savior, and to Montana, my treasure, 
will I pray each and every day, that her memory 
shall forever and forever be kept alive in the hearts 
of her friends. Though she has passed away from 
earthly life, she shall never be forgotten. 

Prompted by her great love for the dear dogs and 
cats, I shall strive to instill in others, love and kind- 
ness toward them. 

That God shall make it possible for me to enrich 
the happiness of every child, in memories of her 
wonderful love for them. 

To all her friends, relatives and acquaintances, 
that summer skies and sunshine shall grow brighter 
and brighter as the years go by, that in the midst of 
the earthly pleasures of this mortal life you will 
find it convenient to anticipate the future life, 
through God's angels of love, who wait to lead the 

— 83 — 

way to that glorious heavenly home of ours and 
yours, dearest of all girls, darling Montana, the 
girl of the golden west. 

We have put away the little dresses that our darling 

used to wear; 
Shoes, stockings and playthings, we are guarding 

them with care. 
Intermingled with our sorrow is a tiny lock of 

golden hair; 
At our dining table stands a vacant, vacant chair. 
Worlds would I give to see our dearest Montana 

sitting there. 
We miss you, precious darling Montana, we miss 

you everywhere, 
And to you, dear, dearest Montana, we bid our last 

sad farewell, farewell. 

— 84 — 

* 1 

H)-^m-o-^m-u i 



Ah, I have sighed to rest me, 
Deep in the quiet grave, 
I've sighed to rest me ; 
But all in vain do I crave. 
Fare thee well, my Montana, 
fare thee well. 

Out of the love I bear you, 

Yield I my life for thee ; 

Wilt thou not think, 

Wilt thou not think of me? 

Oh, think of me, 

My Montana, fare thee well. 

— 86 


Montana, my darling girl, 

Life to me is blue. 

I sigh for you 

And I cry for you. 

My eyes will be blinded with tears 

Through all the coming years. 

Watch over me day by day 

As in Heaven to you I pray. 

Your love will lead the way 

To God and you some day. 

Back to my little girl sweetheart 

When, never, never to part. 

How well I remember when I called 

you Pet; 
Love shining in your eyes I see even yet. 
Little girl blue, I think only, only of you ; 
Smiles from your loving heart, true. 
I see you in your joys 
Playing with childish toys. 
A little girl at school, 
Obedient to the rule. 
A young lady of grace, 
A sweet, winsome face. 
And then a woman, grown, 
With love and happiness unknown. 
Now I gaze into space, 
Looking at the memory of your dear face. 

Palmdale, Florida, 
August, 1925. 

Late LeMay. 

86 — 


God be with you till we meet again ; 
With loving words confide you, 
His spirit ever nigh you; 
God be with you 
Till we meet again. 

Till we meet, till we meet, 
Till we meet at Jesus' feet; 
Till we meet again, 
God be with you 
Till we meet again. 

— 87 — 

Her life was like the angels fair, 
A sunbeam in the sky. 
She scattered kind words and thoughts 
For our reaping by and by. 
The night she closed her earthly eyes 
She softly whispered, "Goodnight, but not 

Her voice lingers in my memory yet, 
A sweet, soft sound that passeth by. 
For who could love this girl and then forget? 
For death is sleep, and somewhere yet 
Love's morn will rise and never set. 
She sweetly whispered, "Goodnight, but not 

My friends on earth to me are ever nigh, 
As each golden day to them passeth by. 
At the portal of Heaven's golden gate 
For all of them I watch and wait. 
And then I'll only whisper fate. 
Dear friends, goodnight, but not goodbye. 

Darling Montana, no indeed, I'll not forget 

Your kindly words, your winsome smile. 

Sleep well, sweetheart, for all will die 

And bid farewell to every fear 

To mansions in the sky. 

So then, goodnight, but not goodbye. 

Late LeMay. 
Palmdale, Florida, 
August, 1925. 

88 — 


Weep not, dear ones, when I am dead, 
But place a boulder rock just o'er my head; 
And in my dreams, oh, let me see 
Tenderness and love expressed for me. 

Whatever kind deed I may have done, 
Think of that, dear one, when o'er me the 

setting sun. 
Forget all the little troubles that annoy — 
Think only of happiness and of joy. 

Remember I always tried to do for you the 

very best; 
Misunderstood, more or less, let me in my 

grave find rest; 
I sigh for you, I die with love for you within 

my breast. 
Earth's sorrows and happiness for me have 

passed — Heaven for me at last. 

The bugle's sound will be calling thee 
To cross beyond o'er the dark blue sea. 
Lift up thine head and do the right; 
A home for you where there is no night. 
A home on Heaven's bright golden shore, 
Where parting ne'er will come again no more. 

Our loved one has gone to prepare 

And is waiting for you and me over there; 

A crown of glory at Jesus' feet. 

Darling Montana, you and I, we will meet. 

Live your earthly life kind and true; 

Be ready when the bugle is sounded for you. 

Late LeMay. 
Palmdale, Florida. 
October 1, 1925. 

— 89 — 


Oh, dear sweet baby, Mont'ie Lee, 
Open wide thine eyes, that you may see 
In the starry Heaven a face so bright 
When mother lisps to you a prayer at night, 
And tells you of your namesake and of her 

Now the fairest of angels with God above. 
Darling Montana, the girl of the golden west, 
Left a name for you on earth, that she loved 

When a voice is calling, Mont'ie Lee, 
Always remember the dear girl that gave it 

to thee. 

Dear little baby girl, Mont'ie Lee, 
Cuddle up close that she may see 
Five pink little fingers and five little toes 
And all the pretty ruffles on baby's clothes. 
Smile, baby, smile, in your sweet, sweet sleep, 
Dearest Montana a watch o'er you will keep. 
Some of Montana's toys we will give you for 

"That's just what we'll do," she would say. 
When a voice is calling, Mont'ie Lee, 
Always remember the dear girl that gave it 

to thee. 

When you lay me down to sleep 
And ask dear God your soul to keep, 
There's a dear sweet girl away over there 
That always listens to baby's prayer. 
You are learning to talk now; I hear you say, 
"I was named after the dearest of all girls, 

Montana LeMay." 
So, dear baby, always be loving and true 
To the dear girl that gave a name to you. 
When a voice is calling, Mont'ie Lee, 
Always remember the dear girl that gave it 

to thee. 

Palmdale, Florida. 
October 3, 1925. 

Late LeMay. 





*>«- «>_, 



Dearest Montana, a picture of your Billiken I put 
At the end of your little book, 

Just as he tagged along behind you 
To some quiet and shady nook, 

Where you would love and caress him with tender 

And softly entwine your fingers through his long, 

shaggy hair. 

Both you and Billiken have now passed away; 
The loving memory of you both linger in our hearts 
day by day. 

Your dear voice echoes in my memory of today, 
As with Billiken you frolicked in childish play. 

Oh, sweet one, come back to me again 
With your Billiken, just for a day. 

Life's sorrowful moments with you both far away; 
To see you again would brighten our pathway. 

From out the shadows comes a whispering prayer; 
My God, I look ; I se^e you and Billiken playing there. 

Late LeMay. 
Palmdale, Florida, 
July, 1925. 


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9LAEE8 COUNTY— -NOV 22 ND-I926, 

JULI A— I D "E S N. 

HOUSTON-P u to 1 i c-Lltsrary, 



w h i c h Go forward to You UNDER seperate 

hOOK " WHEN THEY LEARN Of Y U p HAVING- IN Your librarv 

a circuiatloN as posslbiE that. You r— Good people 
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A E P T-pLEASE ffiv KIND good WlshES .